


Ben's Clues

by BensClues (ThatAloneOne)



Series: Ben's Clues [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Asexual Character, Demons, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Ghosts, Memory Loss, Mystery, Tulpas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 97
Words: 100,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3213986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatAloneOne/pseuds/BensClues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something off about Ben's life. Clues, everywhere, adding up to a picture of something missing. Because even angels can't erase everything. (Mary knew the angels were watching over her. Ben knows that someone was watching over him too.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Simple Clues

Ben knew something was off about his life.

The first clue Ben found was the fact that he knew how to fix a car. Nobody had ever shown him, not that he could remember. But one time when his car died at the side of road he pulled up the hood and just _knew_  that it was the alternator on the fritz again. He was able to tinker around for a few minutes and it was fixed. The engine purred like a kitten.

The second clue was the car itself. He'd bought it on a whim one day, when he went to the second-hand car yard to pick his birthday gift. He wanted a sort of pick up truck, he'd thought, something to carry all of his things in without exploding or making him look like a soccer mom.

But he took one look at the green Impala and bought it. It was like he'd seen it somewhere before, even though it wasn't the most common car. It almost seemed _too_  familiar. Deja vu. It made him uneasy.

His third clue was his mother's reaction to the car. When she heard the engine rumbling up the drive, she'd run to the front door like a woman possessed, tears streaking down her cheeks. When she saw it, green glory shining, she pressed a hand to her chest and hid in her room for an hour. When she came out, she claimed no memory of the events.

But Ben did. And he knew something was off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all of the characters and tags have appeared yet. I just get excited about adding them as I plan. Carry on!


	2. The Food Clues

The second set of clues was harder to see. It had taken Ben a while to figure out that they _were_  clues at all. 

Simple things, really. He classified it in the 'Food' category of clues. There were the 'Car' clues, and now 'Food' clues. 

The first food clue was pie. 

Ben had no idea how he had suddenly become so fond of pie. It was like one day in his tweens he had woken up beside his mother in the hospital after _the accident_ , and decided that his new favourite food was pie. 

Any kind of pie, except pumpkin. Pumpkin didn't count because it didn't have the crusty top layer dusted with sugar. That was made pie _pie_. And pie was awesome. 

Ben counted pie as the most ridiculous of the clues, but it was a clue nonetheless. 

The other of the duo of 'Food' clues was the salt. Salt, salt, and more salt. Ben seemed to require packets of salt on his person at all times. Whenever something happened that startled him, he'd reach for his pocket and the salt contained within, as if it would send an attacker screaming. 

It was just salt. Ordinary salt. He didn't even like it on his potatoes. 

Ben had no idea why he was suddenly overly fond of salt and pie, but it was _off_. Like his life. And Ben was determined to find out what was going on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This story will be updated once a week, on Tuesdays. There's gonna be five sets of clues, then an actual story. I have no idea how long. The short bits are the way of letting me get a little ahead, as I'm a paranoid and busy person. I hope everyone has fun!
> 
> And I never name my muses. But this one wanted a name. I named it Crowley. Because, really, it's evil. I have so many other things I should be doing. Sigh.


	3. The Monstrous Clues

The third, and most disturbing, set of clues, was Ben's instinctive and ridiculous knowledge of all things monstrous. It was like his subconscious had decided to sneak out and read trashy teen novels behind his back, coming back with (air quotes) 'helpful' tidbits.

For instance, Ben was out with his friends one summer day as they bummed around town, pretending that school wasn't actually going to start in a little under two weeks. The guys were discussing this new movie or whatever about werewolves while Ben tinkered with his car, trying to figure out how far the 'Car' clues went as far as maintenance. He wanted to get better gas mileage out of the old car, even though a gruff little voice in the back of his head laughed and  _laughed_  at the very idea. One of his friends had commented on the hairiness of a werewolf and Ben had replied without thinking. "No, that's ridiculous. Werewolves don't get all hairy."

That had garnered him unadulterated heckling for the next while. But Ben couldn't help himself. When werewolves were brought up the next time, Ben, again distracted, had replied to a comment about the 'wickedness' of a werewolf eating a victims guts. "No, that's ridiculous," he'd said. "Werewolves just eat the heart."

And that was just on the topic of werewolves. He had other gems to offer, such as ones on vampires. "They're fine in the sun. It just stings, like a bad burn. If they apply sunblock, they'll be fine." And "Staking them? Ha. You have to behead those suckers."

After that, Ben had been forced to find some new friends that didn't talk about werewolves and vampires so much. It made his head feel funny, like using a donor limb that still remembered how to play cards.

That was when Ben got serious about these clues. They had been weird and yet somewhat cool back when he was sixteen and finding an awesome new car. Now, a little under a year later, they were beginning to make him uneasy. And he had giving up trying to give them clever names, categories, labels. They defied normalcy in every way. And judging by  _any_  standards, that wasn't a good thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has some pretty devious plans for the actual story part once we're done with Ben angsting over the clues Dean's left in his life. The clues are hilarious to me because I know everything (from the show). Hope they're amusing to you too!


	4. The People Clues

The fourth set of clues were ones that came in from all sides. People around him said clues, and then became clues.

After the car accident, Ben and his mom went back home. Their home seemed empty, lacking something, and there was that ever-present salt stuck into cracks in the windowsill. They never did manage to get it all out, yet nobody ever seemed to look at it twice.

Sometimes, when he was older, someone would mention how great the barbecues had been last year, but then their faces would go curiously blank and they'd start talking about cheese or Finland or some other ridiculous topic. His mother did it too, but Ben wasn't in on this complicated evasion of certain topics. He was just confused.

And suspicious.

Sometimes, people he hadn't seen in a long long time, since ages before that accident when all the clues started, would say something and actually get it all out before the blankness and thoughts of Finland took over. They'd say things.

Things like,  _ **Where's that man you were living with way back when. Deacon?**_

Things like,  _ **You certainly have a type, Lisa.** And then they'd laugh and elbow each other. **Who was your favourite? The one with the green eyes?**_

Things like,  _ **Didn't Ben say something about a new dad when he visited all those years ago? No?**_

It was all adding up to one thing. There'd been a man here, the year before the accident. A man with green eyes and a devilish smile and a leather jacket who apparently really liked burgers. A man that nobody could remember for more than a  _second_ after mentioning him. And Ben didn't remember him at all.

And Ben didn't believe in selective amnesia or brainwashing, but by the time he was seventeen, the references to that unknown man were driving him mad. He was the only one who could remember these discussions, these words, these overhead details.  _Why?_

Ben didn't like it. Not one single bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour! Things are really starting to heat up here, eh? Now we're dancing around Dean! He's got an (almost) name! Ben's got an (almost) description! Ben is now TOTALLY suspicious! Yay!
> 
> I'm so sorry that this is being updated so slowly. I'm starting on writing the actual story now and stuff, so it's definitely coming along nicely.
> 
> And by 'nicely', I mean that the story is allowing itself to be written. Not that the story is nice. Because it's not. And Crowley is being really quite evil and I'm terribly sorry for all the plot twists I am going to be torturing you guys with. I've got this absolute WHAMMY that at first seems like nothing and then seems like a HOLY COW and then Crowley is still busy cackling over what I'm going to do after that.
> 
> Anyway, this note turned out WAY longer than I intended it to and I'm terribly sorry about that. Just one more week left of clues and then I shall dump my first-ever actual-fanfic actual-story chapter upon you! Huzzah!


	5. The Last Clues

The final clues weren't something Ben could quantify. It wasn't comments from nowhere, a strange liking for desserts, or a supernatural affinity for cars.

It was a feeling. A feeling that something greater was out there. When his mother prayed, faithful after the accident, he couldn't find it in himself to believe that the angels, or God, gave a crap. He could believe that they existed, easily,  _too_  easily, but he couldn't think of why they'd bother. A somewhat ridiculous name was preferred by that gruff voice in the back of his head.  _Fluffy winged asshats_.

He got the feeling that wasn't the usual nickname for the angels.

There was another feeling too, one that went along with that gruff voice that seemed all-too familiar. A feeling of safety. But not just that. The knowledge that there was someone who could save the world,  _had_  saved the world, and would do anything to save him too.

Of course, along with that was sorrow. And betrayal. And dozens of other interwoven incredibly confusing emotions that kept trying to bury themselves. Just like all the other clues.

Ben didn't really understand that. He'd never really had a role model like that. Not a father figure, either. Lisa... Well, she'd had relationships, but they were over too fast. She expected the world from those leather-jacket-toting men and they couldn't give it to her. So Ben never really latched on to a man like that. But it was what he imagined it must feel like.

Sometimes, when Ben was too tired to think straight he'd hear that voice a little more clearly, telling him to sleep. Sometimes he'd almost feel a ghostly hand ruffle his hair like he was twelve again.

When Ben was too tired even for that, the clues all seemed to come together like the strangest puzzle in all of existence. Telling tales of a missing piece in his life.

A man. Possibly named Deacon, or not, but it definitely started with a D. A man who fit his mothers type to a T - leather jacket and devil-may-care smile and the greenest eyes. A man who could barbecue like nobodies business, liked pie more than was natural, and relied on salt to protect him from many things. "Fluffy winged asshats" apparently not among them, as that gruff voice grumbled, seemingly irritated by the fact.

When Ben woke up the mornings after, the puzzle was shattered again, leaving only the impression that something really  _was_  wrong with his life. Had been since his mother was injured in a car crash all those years ago.

Ben just never expected the truth to be so deadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles madly* And here, the story begins...
> 
> Well, next week, anyway. I feel awful for leaving you on a cliffhanger like that. Well. Actually, I feel great, but in theory, just assume that I'm weeping at my computer because I can tell I'm being evil but I just don't care.
> 
> Ahem. Anyhoozle.
> 
> Regarding the AU status of this, I just wanted to clear some stuff up. Up until now, this can all be considered relatively canon. There is no way that Dean didn't spew hunter stuff while around Ben for an entire year. All of these clues are completely legitimate. Once the story starts, though, it becomes AU. Some characters and stuff show up (although it makes total sense within canon up until they meet S&D&C) and they didn't mention anything like that in the show. It's really only AU in the way of Well-This-Didn't-Happen-But-It-Totally-Could-Have not AU as in OMG I AM DEAN AND ERMAGERD I SOUND LIKE A TEENAGE GIRL AND OOH LOOK IT'S THE SCHOOL GEEK CASTIEL THATS TOTALLY NOT A WEIRD NAME AND I'M IN LUUUUUURVE.
> 
> Sorry about that. That's just what comes to mind when I think "SUPERNATURAL AU" and this story is NOT that. At. All.
> 
> Next chapter will send you hurtling straight into the story, with your introduction to Ben And His Life Now. Seeing as the last sentence was all cliche BEN NEVER EXPECTED THE TRUTH TO BE SO DEADLY clearly there will be at least one death because Supernatural. Think of this as your intro to Ben and his intro to Supernatural and wow I really need to stop talking. Apologies.
> 
> If anyone wants to review predicting the story, I'm pretty sure you'll be wrong, but I'm also pretty sure it'll be amusing, so go ahead! Hugs to everyone who reviewed and made my day!


	6. The Red Car & Terry

Ironically enough, it all started with another car. Ben had started work at the local mechanics, using the weird knowledge and passion for cars as his future career. He'd taken a work placement, getting his mechanics degree while simultaneously earning the money needed to get his mechanics degree. It worked out quite nicely. Ben was able to get an education, to get a job, to pay for his education. Most people didn't have it that well.

Ben always took great care with the cars under his attention, making sure not to make them any worse. Many of the incoming cars were in terrible condition, and Ben was sure that they left just that bit much better off. He couldn't say the same for some of the other workers. They were college students, like him, but they couldn't seem to care less about the cars. They were in it for the money, not the job.

It came back to bite them.

One Wednesday morning, a gloomy one that befit Wednesday well, a special car came into the shop. It was red, a glossy untouched finish that seemed to shine like blood in the diffuse light.

Ben was at the front desk at the time, trying to argue a recalcitrant customer into replacing their brakes - they'd come in for an oil change but the real problem was the brake lines. They didn't agree.

Ben insisted. They didn't agree.

Ben threatened to confiscate their car for being unsafe. They gave in.

Ben walked into the shop, chuckling. "Got another customer that seems to think he doesn't need new brakes until he crashes through an intersection."

There was no reply. Ben's step quickened, making his way around the shelf of spare parts into the main shop. One of his fellow college students, Terry, was bent over the front wheel of the car. Beside him, bolts and a wrench lay in disarray.

Ben relaxed, his hand drifting away from the pocket full of salt. "Sleeping on the job again, eh Terry?"

Terry didn't reply.

Ben hurried over, shaking his shoulder. "Terry!"

For a second, he didn't see anything wrong but a tiny scrape in the paint, a gash in the finish from a careless wrench.

But then Ben saw Terry's neck, a second smile grinning with gore. He backpedalled, sprawling back in the floor and scrabbling for that salt  _salt would protect him._

He watched with a kind of numb disbelief, hands shaking and coated in crystal grains that weren't doing anything to dispel the horror before him as Terry's blood, once slicked in a barely-visible swath like an artful stroke of paint, was _moving_. It crept towards the gap in the paint like a river drawn towards a gully, twisted gravity pulling it in.

When Ben blinked, the scrape in the paint was gone. He shivered, whole body trying to shake off the sight of blood and the sudden chill that permeated the room like ice carved snakes sliding down his back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! I'm super nervous about this. What do you guys think?
> 
> So, Benny Boy has encountered his first... Thing. *jazz hands* SUPERNATURAL.


	7. The Investigation & The Dream

"So you were in the front?" The officer said, eyebrows raised. He clearly didn't believe Ben. "And you didn't hear anything? A scream, a clang, the door opening?"

Ben shook his head numbly. The events were crystal clear, paintings on glass. He had argued with a customer, laughed as he walked back in the shop, seen Terry slumped over the wheel, shook his shoulder,  _the body_ 's shoulder, seen the blood bubble and writhe, sealing the crack in the paint like it was never there. 

He didn't mention the last part to the cops. For once, his common sense and gruff voice had agreed on something. His common sense insisted that he was hallucinating, that the stress was too much to bear. The gruff voice told him to go get a beer and think on it. Oh, and to restock on salt. 

Ben compromised. He stuck his salt shaker in his pocket and called it a night. 

***

His dreams were full of screaming.

His mother's screams, dark laughter behind it, revelling in terror. The warm trickling of blood against his skin, the sharp coolness of a knife against his throat and his mother's hair tickling his cheek as she laughed, eyes black.

He dreamt of another hospital bed, this one surrounded by beeping machines and his mother covered in tubes and she was  _dying_  and Ben was so, so frightened.

And he remembered the man's voice, the voice in the back of his head and the one that seemed to lend itself well to tips on monsters and pie. Ben remembered him saying  _Sorry I'm so sorry_. And he remembered being so  _angry_.

When he woke, soaked in cold sweat, all he could remember was the thought that he really wanted some pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is incredibly short and I am so sorry. It's just how it happened. More again next week, as usual. I'm so glad for everyone who's left kudos! That really made my day. Don't be afraid to comment, either!


	8. The Next Day At Work & Agent Smith

The next day at work was a nightmare. They'd called in someone else to help Ben on the shifts he usually shared with Terry - someone even less competent, if that was possible. The kid was afraid of his own shadow, and  _terrified_  of cars.

Ben stayed far,  _far_  away from the blood car. Theoretically, all of the blood had been carefully wiped off and examined by police officers, and the car was clean. Ready to be fixed and returned to its psychopathic owner, who didn't seem to care that a kid had died on its slick red surface.

But all Ben could think of was the way Terry's blood had crept across the slick surface, turning the crevasse of bare metal into careful painted perfection. It made him think  _How much of that paint is blood if whoever scratches it pays for repairs with their life?_ Even Ben The Boring, as he'd been christened by the workers here, scratched a car sometimes. You just couldn't  _not_.

A shadow fell over him and Ben startled, throwing an elbow into the gut of the man leaning over him.

There wasn't much gut to the man, a skinny, kiddish sort of person with crinkled eyes. He jumped backwards, waving his hands in surrender. "Hey, hey, man, everything's A-O-Kay."

Ben put his wrench down, not realizing that he'd been holding it threateningly. The man smiled. Held up a badge. "Agent Smith, FBI. But you can call me Garth."

Ben crossed his arms. "I already told the police. I didn't hear anything. Didn't see anything. I was arguing with Mrs. Masters about the quality of her brakes-"

"I know, I know." The man said, chuckling. "I was just going to ask a few routine questions."

The voice in the back of Ben's head gave him a few colourful opinions on how useful the FBI was.

_Of course_ , it added.  _If they're not FBI, they can actually be quite useful._

Ben scowled, more to the voice than the agent. "Fine."

The agent took out a piece of paper, propped it on the back of his badge. "Did you feel any cold spots during the day that day?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"A routine one, like I said." The agent laughed nervously. "Gotta tick those boxes."

The phrase sounded a little too familiar to Ben. And he couldn't pinpoint  _why_ , but he lied through his teeth. "No, no cold spots."

Garth nodded, shifted. "What about strange smells? Any sulphur, smells like-"

"Rotten eggs, I know. I passed high school science." Ben said. Picked up his wrench again. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a car to fix."

Garth muttered something under his breath, something about Ben reminding him of an old friend. Ben ignored him, and started pounding away at the engine again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. Updated more than once a week! I'll be doing that from now on. Tuesdays, as usual. And then either Friday's or Saturday's. I'll see what works better. I'll continue to do so as long as I'm far enough ahead to be comfortable. I hope everyone likes it so far! "I passed high school science." SASSY BEN HA.
> 
> And (*muffled laughter*) does anyone recognize Agent Smith? Mwahahahaha. He won't be around long, so enjoy him while he lasts.
> 
> Now, yet another thing. Apologies. Anyway, I recognize that one of my largest weaknesses as a writer is character - the characters that aren't the narrator tend to be shallow, cardboard cut outs. And fanfic? HA! I can't seem to grasp other people's characters. Of course, I'm probably massively hard on myself, but if any of you notice that Supernatural characters are acting super out of character, tell me! I'll try to fix it as best as I can.
> 
> Crowley, my muse, keeps throwing me ideas at 11. At night. So if this is all delirious, it's all his fault. I'm not getting enough sleep. XD.
> 
> Have a great weekend!


	9. The Late Shift & The Not-Agent

It was late when Ben's shift ended, and the sky was dark. For May, it wasn't all that cold, but it got dark all at once, like a blanket dropped over the sun.

He gathered his things, careful to stay away from the killer car. The bloody red paint looked brown and rusted in the electric lights, like something gone rotten.

Ben didn't realize that the kid was still around until he was about to close the door and caught sight of a shifting shadow near the red car.

"Hey!" He called. "Get away! You don't want to-"

But it was too late. The kid had taken a set of keys to the side of the car, and was screaming at it for killing his older brother. All of a sudden, Ben realized he recognized the kid. It was Terry's kid brother.  _Dammit_. He couldn't let him die.

Ben left his shop keys in the door and  _sprinted_  for the kid, still screaming and hashing away at the car. The temperature dropped by ten degrees and Ben's breath huffed out in front of him in a plume, ice crystals crackling to the floor.

Warning bells tolled in his head, used-but-hidden senses and memories aching and that voice screaming  _SALT YOU NEED SALT_.

A form, grey and black and dirt, a faded man with a wicked smile so sharp it looked carved into his face flickered into the space behind the boy. Time jittered, and he was gone. Then he was back, standing in front of the kid with a knife in his hands yelling, " _Y_ _OU HOOLIGANS ALWAYS SCRATCH MY CAR I'M GONNA MAKE YOU FIX IT OH I'M GONNA MAKE YOU **PAY**_!"

Ben threw the salt shaker at him, a plume of white with a missile behind it. It hit the ghost straight in the chest, spray of salt then case of salt, and the man burst into dust and black and white and was gone.

The empty container  _dinged_  off the car and clattered to the floor with a dull sort of noise, like it was afraid to speak in the dark.

Ben scooped the kid back, hand going for his other pocket, the Ziploc of rock salt that was always there  _always_ there.

It was gone. Ben remembered too late how it had all spilled out of his pocket when he'd seen Terry just the other day  _had it really been just yesterday_  and his heart picked up speed.

The ghost flickered back into sight, leering at the both of them now. Ben could see behind him the tiniest dent the heavy plastic shaker had inflicted on the car and thought,  _Oh god this is it I'm gonna die._

The ghost jittered closer, closer. Ben could feel how the kid was holding his breath and shaking and he wanted to do the same but he kept backing them away, into the wall.

The knife appeared in the ghost's hand, and Ben sent up his first prayer.

The ghost turned, stopped. Looked up at the sky and  _screamed_. Ben watched with incredulity as the ghost burned to nothing in the blink of an eye.

The crackle of flames could still be heard behind them, even though the apparition was gone. Ben turned to see through the door an Agent Smith, sorry,  _Garth_ , standing over an oil drum filled with flickering flames. The stench of burnt flesh radiated into the shop and Ben coughed, letting go of the kid and bending over double.

He couldn't believe it. He was still alive. And there were ghosts in the world.  _Ghosts_.

The voice in his head just laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Did I stay true to Garth? Ghost scary enough? Ben react well? Dean-Voice helpful/unhelpful/amusing enough? This chapter is a little longer, thank goodness.
> 
> Oh. Right. So, I was rereading this to make sure I was staying true to Ben's voice and so forth, and I came across something I forgot to explain that will come in later. I didn't explain it in story because its a sort of inference thing, but I think I should state it because I know I am rubbish at noticing things like that.
> 
> Ben is able to notice and recollect these clues because he was a child. As he grows up, his mind is changing and children do have very strange minds. So the enchantment laid on him sort of tries, but there is only so much it can do. Since he's changed so much, its not able to keep him from noticing and remembering these things. They're just clues, after all. If anything larger than a clue was to pop up, it'd be different. It's like that magic mud we all played with as a child - if you have little things poked in it slowly, it'll seep right through. If you try to slam your head through it, it'll stiffen up and stop you.
> 
> Probably a bad metaphor. I do lots of those. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the twice-weekly updates, and this one especially!


	10. Aftermath

Ben had returned the kid to his mother, and sat with Garth on the couch in his tiny apartment. Brooding.

"So," he said eventually. "Ghosts are real. I can't say I'm surprised." And he wasn't. It felt more like a confirmation, someone telling him something he'd forgotten years ago.

Garth leaned in for a hug, and Ben stiffened until the man finally let go, sniffing. "You poor kid. I betcha you're itching to hunt now?"

Ben sighed deeply. "If stuff like that's out there... I have to gank it before it gets someone else."

The word  _gank_  seemed to surprise both him and Garth. Garth let out a slight chuckle, seeming almost as young as Ben. "You've got the lingo down already, huh?"

He went as if to squeeze Ben's shoulders again, but to Ben's great relief, Garth's phone rang. He ignored it for a second, long enough to reassure Ben that he'd teach him everything he'd need to know. Then he pulled open his canvas jacket, exposing a  _grid_  of cellphones. Ben gaped, but Garth went straight for the one that was spewing the toxically sweet ringtone.

Garth's face lit up as he flipped open the phone and Ben had to hold back a scoff - what kind of phone did you still have to flip open nowadays?

"Bess, sweetheart!" Garth said, sounding somehow even more naive and sweet than he usually did. Ben now resisted the urge to gag.

Then Garth's smile dropped off his face, replaced by an expression that reminded Ben of a kicked puppy. Another second, and the look intensified. Ben found himself wanting to give the other man a hug. He was growing on him, somehow. Like a fungus.

"Of course, sweetie." Garth said, trying to smile at the person through the phone. "I'll make it right back!"

Then he seemed to realize Ben was in the room, and his kicked-puppy expression went to level nine thousand. "Just give me a few minutes, Bessie, I have to sort some things out, then I'll be on the road." A pause. "New hunter." Another pause. "That's a great idea! Love you too." And he clicked the phone shut.

Ben gave him a  _What the hell was that all about_  expression for as long as he could, which was approximately two seconds. "Who was that?"

"My wife. She's got a problem up at the church, a new bitten acting up." Garth sighed dejectedly. "And I was looking forwards to helping train you, but family calls."

Ben didn't even try to parse that. "So you can't help me?" It came out harsher than he had intended, and he tried for a smile. It came out as fake as Mrs. Master's boobs.

That image made him smile for real; a cocky little thing that Ben knew made him look innocent. Or at least, above guilt.

Garth muttered another something about an old friend, something about smiles and getting out of things, then shook his head. "Nah. Not gonna leave you with a ghost in your head. I'll call up a friend. She's about a year older than you, she can help."

Ben couldn't help it. "She?"

Garth looked offended as he could, which wasn't very. "Yes. She's the best hunter in this area that ain't tied down to a specific hunt." He stood, grabbing his duffel. "I'll call her on the way home. What's your address?"

_We're at my house right now, Garth_ , be thought, but scribbled it on the back of an auto shop business card, handed it over. Then he looked away; images of the smoking oil drum and ghost on fire playing over in his mind. "...thanks for the save."

"No problem, buckaroo!" Garth said, back to his frighteningly cheery self. He opened his arms, gestured. "C'mere!"

Ben reluctantly gave him another hug and waved as Garth exited, running toward his AMC Pacer, which Ben personally disapproved of as a hunter's car. All he could think about was his apple green Impala, snug in the garage and somehow, after his horrible day, he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I think I actually managed to do a pretty good job with Garth, surprisingly enough. It was quite amusing working with him, really. He'll play a part, on and off. I mean, he was the Bobby, and even after he went werewolf, he offered to hunt with Dean. Makes sense that he'd get back to it. And since S&D&C are busy obfuscating random officials elsewhere or whatever it is they're doing without plot right now... Ahem. Anyway. Garth's the man.
> 
> Just one more chapter (WITH BIG PLOTTY YAY) and then you get to meet someone else. You haven't technically met her before, but I think you'll like her. And man, has she got some plot behind her. Like, almost more than Ben. Mwahaha. Crowley, you're a genius.
> 
> Oh, and it seems I lied about the season. Heh. I've finally caught up all the way, and now it actually seems to work better if it's set in around season ten. After the ghost-in-the-wifi episode, likely. Or later, since I'm totally unable to see the future. So when Dean's got a hold of the Mark and there really aren't any other problems hanging around besides misplaced angst.
> 
> I like the word angst. Ha.
> 
> Anyway, have a good week! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	11. The Morning After & The Morning After

Ben woke up the next morning to the most aches and pains he'd had since... He didn't even know when. His whole body was protesting  _something_  all right, and Ben scowled as he hauled himself out of bed. What had happened? Had Terry the lazy ass made him haul all the spare parts in from a shipment?

The memories hit with almost physical force, and Ben stumbled into his dresser, knocking down a picture of him and his mother taken at a fair last year. They were both smiling in the photo as it plummeted to the floor and Ben was too slow. The glass front shattered, spilling four or five photos onto his crummy wood floor.

Ben frowned. He didn't remember having more than three photos in that frame. He bent, trying to avoid leaning into the fragments of sparkling glass.

The fourth photo was already face-up and boring, one of an eleven year old him and Lisa at a science fair, Ben grinning like an idiot and holding a third prize. Lisa's eyes were focused on someone off to the side, and she was smiling with the light in her eyes Ben hadn't seen for so many years. She looked  _happy_.

He turned the other picture over slowly, almost afraid of what he would find.

It was Ben, eleven, grinning. There was a shimmer in the air behind his head - heat from a barbecue. And there was a man next to him in plaid, so tall the top of his short-cropped hair was brushing the white border of the photo. His face was turned, but Ben could see that he was grinning widely and his hand was gripping Ben's shoulder.

Ben sat back with a  **thump** , hands shaking. He was right. He was  _right_.

But then the shiny paper rectangle seemed to warp in his hands, the man dissolving into thin air, their black iron barbecue taking his place. Ben scrambled to his feet, ran to the light where he could truly see that the true image was  _gone_.

He'd hardly reached his bed when pain stabbed through his skull like an ice pick straight through to his brain. His legs went numb and he  _f_ _ell_ , eyes clattering shut. His eyelids flashed red, black. He took in a rattling breath, and then he was unconscious.

* * *

 

Ben woke up the next morning to the most aches and pains he'd had since... He didn't even know when. His whole body was protesting  _something_  all right, and Ben scowled as he hauled himself out of bed. What had happened? Had Terry the lazy ass made him haul all the spare parts in from a shipment?

His head was throbbing too, and he pressed a hand to his temple, wincing. The pain was already fading, weirdly fast, and Ben's scowl deepened.

That's when he remembered.

The memories hit with almost physical force, and Ben stumbled into his dresser, grabbing onto the bare top for support. His foot slid, and searing pain ripped up his leg. He hopped to his other foot, cursed loudly. Stared in shock at the floor.

There was glass on the floor, and a frame, and four pictures. His foot was bleeding all over one of them, obscuring his mother's grinning face from his seventh grade science fair.

Ben cursed loudly, again, limped to his bathroom where he pried a piece of glass out of his foot and slapped a massive Band-Aid on it. It wasn't too deep, thank god, but he was going to be limping for the next week. Great.

Not the most auspicious start for a hunter-in-training. He groaned loudly, stumbled back over to his bed and flopped down. Something crumbled beneath him, and he sat back up.

It was a fifth photo, one of himself when he was about eleven, standing next to the barbecue and smiling, the heat rippling the air above his shoulder.

His headache throbbed.

Ben threw the photo back on the floor with the others, making a promise to clean up the glass and blood and photos in about ten minutes, when he wasn't so grumpy and likely to stumble into a shard of glass with his other foot.

What was the frame doing on the floor, anyway? It should've been on top of his dresser, safe. Not in irritatingly sharp pieces on the floor.

He put it off to adrenaline-rush fuelled clumsiness from last night. He  _had_  been out of it. Seeing your first ghost tended to do that to a guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY that this is late. It's been INSANE. Hope the length of the chapter makes up for it!
> 
> Yeah. So that's what I was talking about with the clues vs proof and the way the angel enchantment works. I'd say that a photo is really in the proof category. So naturally, the enchantment draws the line there and knocks him out and wipes his recent memory. Basically proving to Ben that there's something up. Yay!
> 
> Next update includes that other character that I love. She's pretty epic, and really, this fic would be snoozeville (and also deathville) without her. I can't wait! And I really need to stop talking about her before I start spoiling things.
> 
> And ha, I bet you thought the chapter title was a typo at first. No. Definitely not. Mwahaha. You should all be afraid of Crowley. Very, very afraid.


	12. The Fellow Hunter & Mr. Moriarty

It was more than ten minutes later when Ben woke to a furious knocking on his front door. Light stung his eyes, and he cursed when he realized that he had fallen asleep yet again. If this wasn't his day off - Sunday - he would've probably been fired. And that wasn't good.

He swung his legs off the bed and stood, started cursing again. The phrases were beginning to feel useless in his mouth, sharp syllables tumbling over one another to announce his displeasure to the world at large. His foot throbbed, and he could feel more blood start to leak out. Great. Ben  _loved_  being injured.

The knocks came again, sounding like they were one notch away from shattering his door into pieces. The silverware in the kitchen, next to the door, jangled with the kind of irritating ferocity you usually only see during earthquakes.

Ben hobbled to the door and wrenched it open mid knock. There was a girl standing there, and Ben only had the time to take in narrowed grey eyes directly level with his own before the girl slammed right through him as if he wasn't there. Ben couldn't help but be impressed as he began to topple, and even more impressed when she caught him with ease, shoving him back upright.

"Sorry," she said, slightly out of breath. "You do realize your neighbour is a demon, right?"

Ben's eyes went wide, and he scrabbled for some sort of weapon. Even his pyjama pockets had salt in them, and he stilled when he found it. Looked measuringly at the girl. "Is he really?"

Mr. Moriarty, while having the name of a devious criminal, seemed anything but. He was over eighty, and although spry for his age, couldn't go much faster than a snail.

She nodded seriously. "I can tell. Got the slight smell of sulphur," and Ben winced, that not-memory tugging on him again. "And then there's the fact that he's got his ear pressed to the wall right now, listening to you."

And with a movement so fast Ben almost missed it, the girl whipped a placemat out of her pocket, shook it out, and slammed it flat to the wall next to them with a  _slap_.

There was a muffled screech from next door, and Ben's eyes went so wide he thought they might pop out of his sockets.

She grinned wickedly. "Ready for the first demon hunt, newbie?"

Ben nodded silently, shifted his weight and winced. The girl glanced down at the blood, sighed. "Might want to fix that first. I'll glue the demon to the wall."

Ben didn't even have words. He limped to the kitchen, keeping a close eye on his new hunter friend as she hummed cheerfully, sticking the edge of the placemat to the wall with tacks. The shouts from the other side were getting more irritated, and Ben shook his head.  _His neighbour of nearly a year was a demon. And he hadn't noticed a thing_.

To be fair, though, he hadn't known about demons until yesterday.

_Fluffy winged asshats_ , his inner voice said grumpily. It did that sometimes, a disjointed phrase, usually a complaint. Ben started, laughed, turned back to his bandaging. Tested it. It was in as good working order as a recently impaled foot was going to get.

The girl laughed as the old man started to curse. She glanced at him, standing steady on two feet now. "Staying in the pyjamas too?"

Ben went flame red and went to his room, changing into jeans and as his inner voice demanded, his only plaid shirt. The girl nodded approvingly as he came out, let go of the placemat. It stayed easily. "Better. Ready to gank the thing?"

Ben took a shaky breath. "Sure?" But then he stopped. "What's your name?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, now you ask." she muttered. "Usually that's the first question."

"You told me my neighbour was a demon!" Ben protested. "That was slightly distracting!"

She shrugged and offered a hand. "Amriel Grace. But call me Amy." And she shook his hand steadily, hand gripping his in a way that made him wish he was wearing an iron glove to protect his fragile fingers. Then she laughed, a short ironic little sound. "Ready now? Or do you need to comb your hair too?"

Ben ran a hand through his short hair self-consciously, and Amy smacked him. "Get a move on, Ben Braeden."

He started out the door, dripping only to marvel at the genius of the placemat...  _Devils Trap_  the voice supplied. "How did you think that up?"

"I'm not an idiot." Amy said, pushing last him to bend over Mr. Moriarty's lock. Tiny sticks of metal appeared in her hands as if by magic and the lock clicked open just as quickly. The door swung open easily and Ben walked in behind her, feeling almost numb with shock.

_This was actually happening._

Mr. Moriarty's head was stuck to the wall with his ear pressed flat, and he was cursing loudly and with more vigour than most old men had. He looked at them with fury, eyes black as coals and shining with inner fire.

"You  _hunters_!" he said with disdain. "Always got your pretty little rings of Solomon, because you don't have the balls to take us straight out." And then he scowled at Amy. "Brought your little hooker, did you, Benji?"

Amy kicked him in his old man nuts. Apparently, it was just as painful to demons as it was to humans, and Ben couldn't help but wince in sympathy.

Amy reached into the inside of her jacket and drew out a silver dagger, conical and almost plastic looking in its sheen. It didn't look sharp at first, but then Amy spun in around in her hand and the razor edge caught the light.

_That was some knife._

Amy studied the man as he groaned and tried to spew foul language at them. It sounded more like gargling than any other language Ben recognized. Her face was intent, and Ben gathered the nerve to nudge her arm.

She startled like a racehorse, head snapping up and chestnut hair flying. " _What_?" She snapped. Shook her head. "Sorry. What?"

"Isn't this the point at which we exorcise it?" Ben asked, gesturing at the man. The demon was already starting to recover his voice, although it was a good octave higher.

Amy shook her head. "Lesson one: just stab the demons. Unless you've got them good and trapped, like this," and she kicked him in the shin to make her point. He hissed, baring his teeth. Ben have him an appalled look, then turned it on Amy. She continued without so much as a wayward blink. "Unless you've got 'em trapped, kill them. Nine times out of ten, the host is too damaged to survive.

"Normally with someone like him, obviously on a reconnaissance mission, I'd say you could save the host." Amy shook her head, hair flying. "But I've seen this goon before. There's a file on him, Garth has it. Got shot to the head about five years ago. We keep track of all the known hosts for this exact reason."

Ben scowled, unhappy with the idea of killing the old man. "Aren't we supposed to save them, though? Isn't that the point?"

"Lesson two." Amy said grimly, all levity gone. "You can't save everyone."

She held her hand out, knife resting in the palm. "Take it."

Ben did, felt the warmth of the metal. Strange power seemed to thrum through it, resonate in the bones of his hand. Held it cautiously up, angled at the demon spewing vitriol. Amy nodded. "Go get 'em, Braeden."

And Ben brought his arm down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, this is what you call a long chapter. 1325 words, not including my probably much-too-long authors note. I know I said I'd keep them short. I seem to have lied. And I'm super sorry for having it so late in the day. I've been baking like a maniac.
> 
> Does anyone like this new hunter? The one carting boatloads of plot and character and backstory? I've put tons of effort into her, and I have to say, she's got a pretty impressive first line. "Sorry. You do realize your neighbour is a demon, right?".
> 
> And just to tell you guys here, straight out... No. They aren't going to fall in love. If any of you here are just hanging around waiting for Ben to go all lovey-dovey on someone, I hate to break it to you, but it ain't gonna happen. This story is about Ben and Amy, fellow hunters, fellow friends. Amy just isn't interested, and Ben's far too busy trying to find clues and then angsting and then Amy is too busy angsting about her tragic backstory and main plot and then Amy becomes far too amused with herself and-
> 
> Yeah. Let's not spoil it all, shall we? Anyway, I just wanted to make it clear because it's happened before, people getting irritated and saying BUT WHEN ARE THEY GONNA FALL IN LOVE I SHIP IT. And they weren't ever going to fall in love.
> 
> Now, if you want to ship it, SHIP AWAY. I'm just saying that in this story, they're far too busy to get into all that drama. If you want to write your own thing in which they fall (maybe even literally?) in love, go ahead as long as you're like "ThatAloneOne made Amy". Not that I'm expecting that. I'm just being paranoid and covering every eventuality.
> 
> Again, I've talked too much. Go on with your week, and have fun!


	13. Disposal & The Clue Book

Amy was off somewhere, disposing of Mr. Moriarty's body.

Ben still couldn't get over it all. Mr.  _Moriarty_? Really? He should have figured something was up with the guy by his name alone. Actual people didn't tend to have names like that.

And Ben had killed the man. Brought that strange silver knife down on him. Watched as red-orange electricity arced and sparked and lit up the edges of his bones like an X-Ray in reverse. It was a demon, no doubt about that. The eyes were a dead giveaway.

Amy had said the man was already dead, and had told him that in most cases it didn't even matter. They couldn't save the hosts, never really could. But Ben still felt terrible about it, could feel the give of his flesh and  _crack_  of his brittle bones-

Ben shivered, wrapped his arms around himself. To be honest, it had been Amy's eyes that had spooked him the most. Gone was the laughter, the giggles, the stark amused honesty. Instead, there had been something dead and yet still gazing out through glassy eyes.

_Everyone starts hunting somehow_ , his inner voice said, sounding so, so pained.  _Its never happy._

Oh, and there was also the fact that Ben was going stark raving mad. That too. He was  _loving_  the gruff little voice in his head, the clues mounting up to insane. At least he'd got another piece of the puzzle with this.

That gruff little voice belonged to a hunter. The hole in his life had been left by someone like he was now, someone not afraid of the things that went bump in the night.

He meant to ask Amy about that when she got back. Was it normal for hunters to be in the middle of psychotic breaks? Or was it just him. Ben The Weird strikes again.

He almost laughed at that. Well. At least he wasn't  _Ben The Boring_  anymore.

He got to his feet - left still complaining - and made his way to the cupboard where he kept his cleaning supplies. The blood would be dry by now, which was irritating. He'd have to scrub it. And the photos were likely ruined. Ben didn't have many photos of when he was younger. When he was about eight, they suddenly got a lot scarcer, all the way up until he was thirteen.

He wondered if he should've included that in his clues.

_The clues._

Ben dug them out from beneath his boxers, a tiny notebook with scribbled ideas and notions and emotions. Not knowing why, Ben shoved it in his jeans pocket. He didn't want it out of his sight, not knowing that his neighbour had been a demon and likely spying on him.

That was another thing that he needed to ask Amy. What the  _hell_  was so special about him that he warranted a special demon eavesdropper?

He scribbled that down as a clue before he could think better of it, then turned the book to a new page and started jotting down all of his questions. It made him feel a little better to see it on paper, stark black against white space and blue lines. It made Ben feel a little less insane.

But only a little.

Ben tossed the pictures of the science fair and barbecue - ruined - and swept the last shards of glass into the trashcan. The other three photos went back into the frame, and the frame back on top of his rickety dresser.

Back to normal. Whatever normal was now, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, readers! About the chapter length - Eek! Sorry! I end the chapters when there's a natural lull in the story. Which basically makes for pretty short chapters for the most part. That's why I accelerated it to twice a week because it's really awful having such teensy tiny parts.
> 
> Oh, and to answer a question I know all of you are thinking - WHEN IS DEAN COMING IN?
> 
> Good news - I've planned up to that part. Bad news - it's not for a while. That's for a couple of reasons. One, Ben and Amy are about to embark on a full-fledged case. And I mean FULL-FLEDGED. There's investigation, monsters, drama, weapons, plot developments. Whole hog. Two, I need to develop Ben and Amy as characters before that happens. This is both for me as an author (figuring out what they're like) and you as a reader, seeing what they do. Three, I'm still super duper nervous about writing actual canon characters. It'll take a while before I'm ready. Currently, I have no flipping idea of how to write Dean. Or Sam. Or Cas. And they're all gonna be in it at some point. So yay for that.
> 
> One last thing - I was almost disappointed that nobody commented on the knife from last chapter. Silvery, conical, almost plastic looking in its sheen? Killed a demon? I truly do wonder what that could be.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all have a terrific week!


	14. Questions & Strange Tea

There was a knock on his door, and Ben nearly had a heart attack before he heard the scratching of a key in the lock, and let go of the Ziploc of salt. It was Amy. He'd given her his spare key, because really, the fastest way to trust someone was to kill a demon with them.

If they didn't seem to think you were insane, and they didn't try to kill  _you_ , they were trustworthy. At least in Ben's book.

She swung the door open, stepped inside. Her shoulder length chestnut hair was braided back now, and only a few wisps straggled in her face. She looked straight at him, grey eyes serious, but not dead. "I'm assuming you have questions."

Ben waved the little book half-heartedly. "A couple."

Amy smiled, rolled her eyes. "Of course." She seemed happier now that the demon was out of sight, out of mind. That, or it was the idiocy Ben was displaying. He didn't particularly care which.

"So," he said. "Uh." Tried to remember what he was going to ask.

"I need a drink," Amy told him. "Where's your kitchen?"

Ben frowned. "I don't have any alcohol-"

She fixed him with eyes that made steel look flimsy. "I meant tea, dumbass. You got a kettle?"

Ben felt silly. "Oh. Uh, yeah. An electric one."

Amy scoffed, as if this was a paltry offering unworthy of her attention. "Electric." Then she grinned. "This is going to be so much fun."

Ben followed her into his kitchen, made himself comfortable at the table. The table wasn't big, like his apartment, but Ben liked it. He'd made it himself, he thought, some time when he was younger.

With a frown, he realized that he actually didn't remember making it. Just standing looking at it, thinking,  _Cool. I made it!_

He resisted the urge to jot that down in his book.

The girl puttered around, getting water from the tap, honey and lemon juice from the cabinet and fridge. Ben didn't understand how she needed those for tea, but he led with a more important question. "How did you-"

He was going to say  _know Moriarty was listening_ , but Amy cut him off before he could start. "-start hunting? Yeah. Gimme a sec."

Ben closed his mouth. Amy poured the boiling water and lemon juice and honey into a green mug, stirred it, sat down in his only other chair. She took a sip as if to steel herself, and then started. "Two things just quick - if you hit on me, I  _will_  hit  _you_." And by the look on her face, Ben could tell that she meant it.

He gulped. "Wasn't thinking of it. Got the message."

"Loud and clear." And Amy laughed for a second, letting herself enjoy his shock. "Had to lead with that. Last time Garth hooked me up with someone, that someone tried to hook himself up with  _me_. I made sure he sang soprano for the next month."

Then she sobered slightly, took another bracing gulp of her weird tea. "I started hunting when I got possessed by a demon."

"I'm so sorry," Ben found himself saying. "That must've-"

"Sucked. Yep." Amy kicked the nearest leg of the table, making the slightly unbalanced structure rattle back and forth in fright. "Luckily for me, it decided it liked my twin brother better. My parents were dead, and apparently I wasn't worth the effort. Got in contact with Garth somehow, and  _voila_ ," she gestured to the room. "Hunter."

Ben closed his mouth, not realizing it had dropped open. "That's terrible!"

"You're telling me." Another sip of tea. A forced grin. "Alright then. Question two?"

"How did you know that-" Ben was rudely interrupted from his question by a headache so sudden and blinding that he felt his head had just been run over by the possessed car. He let out a hiss of breath, clutched his temples.

He could vaguely hear Amy asking if he was okay, but there was this awful high-pitched ringing in his ears and it  _hurt_.

Ben came back to himself so abruptly he felt like he'd been hurled off a train. Amy's ice-cold hand was pressed to his forehead and as the headache ebbed, he almost felt like a vice had been released, something that was holding a bit of him back.

Amy shrieked, whipped her hand back like it had caught fire, shook it. "What in the  _world_?"

Ben had a few, less family friendly, things to say about his headache.

They stared at each other for a few seconds.

Ben was the first to speak in something other than expletives. "Does that usually happen?"

Amy shook her head, her eyes curiously bright. "I was checking to see if you had a fever and then my had went cold as a ghoul."

They both scowled at each other before Amy took another swig and Ben sighed deeply and asked her everything he could think of about demons and ghosts and  _ghouls_  and werewolves and vampires and everything else he could think of.

He was amused and slightly disturbed that he'd been right about werewolves and hearts, vampires and sunscreen. It made him feel a little safer, a little less like the next Big Bad Thing was just going to eat him.

Now, Ben could fight back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go Ben! Believe in yourself!
> 
> I'll keep writing this for as long as this story makes sense. I'm not the type to abandon a story I am this far into. And man, am I far into this one. It's looking like the case'll be about fifteen parts, at least. Then some plot. Then more. Then uh, Dean? Then stuff. Basically the devious Crowley you should be expecting. Just in case you guys are worried about the Satan of unfinished fanfics. 
> 
> Again, any thoughts on Amy? I know, I know, I'm pestering you. And she's an OC. Ish. I just can't help but like her, since I'm, you know, writing her. I seriously can't wait until her part in the story starts becoming more obvious.
> 
> Have a fabulous weekend! (Yes, I know I'm late again. I am so sorry.)


	15. A Case & A Reminder

" _SO!"_  Amy said, smacking Ben's stomach to wake him up. "I've got a case!"

Ben fell off the bed. Almost threw rock salt at her. Scowled, then blinked up at the girl blearily. "Whaaa?"

She flounced out. Ben blinked again, trying to remember the disjointed sounds that had woken him. Casa?

_Case. They had a case._

That woke him up fast. Ben got dressed quickly, his inner voice complaining about the lack of plaid, and ran/hobbled out to the kitchen where Amy sat at the table, sipping her weird tea and reading his newspaper.

He'd splurged on getting the paper delivered daily. It just seemed like something he'd need.

_Clue. You were making sure there weren't any cases in the neighbourhood._

That went down in the notebook quickly before Ben sat himself down across from Amy. She glanced up, grinned. "You're just like Tate. Got motivation, got energy."

Then her smile faded slowly, like the lights in his old schools auditorium. Bright, to a barely there glow, and even that fading to nothing. She flipped the page quickly, shoved it towards him to cover her face. "Here."

Ben took the paper, careful to let Amy's face stay hidden as she wanted it. She looked smaller in the morning, as if, like the day, she wasn't finished becoming herself yet. Her pink tank top and grey sweats mimicked the grey brick buildings and bright sunrise outside, and her too-bright eyes promised rain just as the thick clouds did.

There was an article, surprisingly small. Two girls had disappeared. They had both been living at residence at the local college that Ben was also attending, although he hadn't met them. The doors had been locked, and the only odd thing inside the apartment had been a... And Ben grimaced at this. A mummified ravens head?

He looked up, met Amy's still-bright eyes. "Case."

She snorted, something like a laugh and a sob and a scoff all at once. "Well,  _yeah_. That's why I woke you up."

Ben felt stupid, and got himself some coffee in order to feel awake and stupid as opposed to asleep and stupid. The energy rush from being jolted awake was fading fast, and Ben needed caffeine to replace it.

Ben's alarm went off in his room, and his heart sank.  _Damn_. He had work today. It wasn't the weekend anymore, and although he really thought that the death of a co-worker should give him some off time, he knew the shop wasn't keeping afloat by very much. He couldn't afford to lose his job, and with it his mechanics degree, but not showing up today.

Ben left the coffee machine going and headed to his room to click off the alarm. It was eight, and he needed to be at the shop by nine, although he could probably push it to nine thirty if he needed to.

"Ben?" Amy called. "What's with the alarm?"

"I've got a job!" He called back, pausing in his room to grab another bag of rock salt. The odds of another haunted car coming up were slim, but not impossible. And Ben didn't like trusting odds, anyway. Chance was a liar and fate was a pain in the ass.

"A job?" Amy sounded confused. "Where?" There was some rustling, and apparently she found a business card or some such in his kitchen. "Auto shop. Nice. You got a car?"

"An Impala." He said, re-entering the kitchen and grabbing his mug of coffee. "Green '67."

Amy's eyes brightened. "Oooh,  _nice_. Roll back roof?"

Ben grinned at her, coffee momentarily forgotten. "Nah. Solid roof."

Amy stuck out her bottom lip, nodded measuringly. "I approve. You can fit a body in the trunk, did'ja know that?"

Ben took a bracing gulp of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...yeah. This case is long. And weird. And... weird. Buckle up, 'cause its gonna be a wild ride!


	16. A Day At Work & A Discovery

Ben's day at work didn't start well. Amy had insisted on coming with him, watching him work as she researched. He had tried to argue that she'd get more done at the library, but Amy had fixed him with a  _look_ and asked him if he'd like to run into another ghost car alone. Ben had grumpily allowed her into the car, but refused to let her ride in the trunk.

He introduced Amy as his cousin, and although one of his coworkers looked suspicious, nobody commented.

Someone tried to flirt with her and when he wouldn't give up, got a knee to the soft spot. After that, they all kept a respectful distance, which Ben found hilarious. He'd have to remember to tell their girlfriends this fantastic method of managing the flirts.

Amy manned the front desk, directing customers to free workers and occasionally demanding that Ben get her some things from the back, like the old paint sticks for touching up paint. The ones nobody used, like lemon chiffon. She wouldn't tell him what they were for, but the paint sticks all went into a pocket or - Ben had felt squeamish at this one - the side of her bra.

There wasn't much activity at the shop that day. Ben kept working on the assigned cars, doing all his long-term repairs with the same meticulous effort he always expended.

His mind wandered, though. All the clues that Ben had missed before, even when he thought he had been so attentive. The way Amy had looked at him after she had whipped her ice-cold hand off his forehead, like she hadn't been quite there when she placed it and couldn't figure out quite why she'd done it.

And also to that frame on the floor. It shouldn't have been there. Ben had no memory of knocking it over. Even if he had knocked it over in a bout of post-adrenaline clumsiness, Ben never would've left it on the floor. It was the only picture of him and his mother he'd taken to college. He would have picked it up.

He considered Mr. Moriarty. Maybe he'd gone above and beyond with his spying duties, even breaking into Ben's apartment to evilly cackle as he knocked over his pictures.

But that didn't make sense either. Ben would  _kind of_ notice of his frame crashed into the floor while he was sleeping. He wasn't deep enough a sleeper that he'd just sleep through something like that. If Mr. Moriarty had knocked it over before he went back to his apartment with Garth, Ben would have stepped on the glass in the dark.

Ben didn't realize just how distracted he was until Amy tapped his shoulder and he concussed himself on the car's hood.

"Ow!"

Amy laughed at him. "Skilled, Braeden.  _Skilled_."

He rubbed his aching head, already feeling a lump growing. It was a  _great_ week for injuries, it was. He scowled deeply.

That just made Amy laugh harder. "Think I've got what we're dealing with in the case." She said. Then amended herself. "Sorry. Really vague and stupid idea that is probably exactly what we're dealing with because hunting never makes any sense."

Ben couldn't help but agree.

Amy twisted her hair into a bun, held it in place absently. "Well, when I was getting to your place, I thought you were going to be boring," and she smiled apologetically and let her chestnut hair fall before starting to wind it up again. "Sorry. Garth just said teenage newbie. Anyway, I stopped by your local bookstore and bought  _this_."

Amy brandished a book. The cover was badly made Photoshop, with a white couple kissing with a bright red title proclaiming THE RAVEN WIZARD. On the boy's bicep there was an (obviously Photoshopped) symbol, one that looked pretty suspicious to Ben.

Amy brandished the book as she continues, like it was a machete or something. "And so its  _terrible_ but I was  _bored,_ "  _swipe_ "and it has this big release party thing and I got it signed for free,"  _brandish_  "so I bought it and then was reading it instead of researching because I was so bored. And  _then_ ," and Amy accidentally let go of the book, which flew across the room. She crossed her arms, pretended like she meant for it to happen. "And yeah, there we go. The villain in the book leaves a mummified raven head as his calling card when he kidnaps the total diva of a main character. Who's - wait for it - a teenage girl at college."

Ben's brain took a second to catch up. "So, you're saying that the book," and he gestured to the other side of the shop, saw the book lying crumpled beneath the window that, to his surprise, was already showing dusk. "Had its villain brought to life? And he's on the loose?"

Amy nodded. "And now I need to finish that terrible book to see what he's doing with the girls and see if we can save them."

Ben decided that he didn't really care about the raven's heads. "Okay, great. But  _Amy,_  how do we kill him?"

Amy stopped smiling all of a sudden, like a train wreck. "Oh. God  _damn_ it."

"What?"

"It's the first book of a duology."

"So?"

"He might not die in the book. There's a sequel. We might not be able to kill him like that."

"What?"

Amy starting twisting her hair with a vengeance. "Dammit. I think we're dealing with a Tulpa here, something created by meditation or constant thought. The idiot author uses the meditation focus symbol on the cover,"  _Aha,_ Ben thought smugly.  _Knew it looked suspicious._  "-and also on all the time breaks. Every time someone reads it, he becomes stronger."

"That doesn't suck at all." Ben said, beginning to realize that it wasn't the easy kind of thing he'd thought it would be. Like ghosts. Or something that was  _real_. "Won't your fancy silver knife work on it? Where'd you even get that thing?"

Amy's hand went to her hip, where the knife was likely concealed. She frowned deeply. "I don't know. It might, but I wouldn't count on it." Her frown deepened, her forehead furrowing into a series of wrinkles that resembled a strong WiFi signal. "Wow. I don't quite remember. I think it was on the table, when I was fighting off Tate."

Ben ignored the obvious  _Well why was it there? You hadn't been hunting before!_ and tried to clear his face. Tate was clearly a sore topic for her, and he couldn't blame her. A demon had possessed her, made her kill her parents (she hadn't said that out loud, but he could see it in her eyes) and then decided he liked her twin brought better and ran off wearing him.

He turned back to the jumble of disconnected pipes and wires in the engine, poked it a few times. Oil dropped onto the floor sullenly. He turned back to the girl, her eyes looking too bright again as she gazed at the book lying underneath the dusky window. "Hey," he said. "I'll finish up on this one, then clock out and see if I can read the book too. See what we're getting into."

Amy smiled shakily. Went to retrieve the book without another word.

Ben turned back to the car, and found himself wishing he could fix the world, fix Amy's brother as easily as he could fix a car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry its late. I'm hoping soon that I'll be able to get back on track. 
> 
> Funny story - I had the title originally as THE RAVEN KING and then a few weeks later the fabulous Maggie Steifvater released the title of her fourth and final book in the Raven cycle and it was, guess what... Yeah. The Raven King. So, as to not make any sort of comparison between my horrific book/Tulpa idea and the fantastic Raven Cycle, it's now THE RAVEN WIZARD. Which is worse. So therefore, more fitting!
> 
> If anyone has any comments, as always, love to see them!


	17. A Very Bad Book & A Possible Solution

Ben found himself agreeing with Amy's opinion on the book after reading only the first sentence.

_The very first thing Arcadia noticed about the new bad boy was the dangerous look in his baby-blue eyes, seen only as she hurried by in the hall, ugly long curly blond hair falling over her face as she tried to make her geeky self invisible._

"Amyyyy," he called. "Can I ditch this book now?"

She appeared in the doorway of his room, took in where he was in the book and  _smirked_. "You aren't even done the first page!"

"I can already tell how stupid it's gonna be from the first sentence!"

Amy stuck her tongue out at him. "Too bad, Benny. You promised."

He looked down at the book in his hands, at the circular symbol that was already splattered across the top of the page. No  _wonder_ a Tulpa had been created. He was surprised it hadn't shown up earlier. Even if it was only teenage girls reading it- Actually, he'd seen teenage girls. That demographic was probably helping.

Ben had been confused earlier, when Amy had been telling him about the creature.  _Shouldn't they be appearing everywhere?_ he'd asked. Amy had laughed at him and informed him that, no, they weren't everywhere. This book was self-published, and only available in the local bookstore. Therefore, no mummified raven heads floating around elsewhere in the world.

Ben forced himself to continue, even though his scowl was deepening at every word. As he hit landmarks of stupidity, he yelled them at Amy. She was forcing him to read this book, dammit. He was going to bug her all he wanted.

"Page thirty four! They had a 'meaningful stare' in the hall!"

"Page fifty! They got put in a group together by the teacher!"

"Oh you've got to be  _kidding me_ its only chapter seven and they're making out!"

"Shut up, Braeden!" she'd yelled back. "I'm reading it  _twice_! You can suffer through it  _once_!"

"But you can read it in like, an hour! It's going to take me all night!"

_"Too bad_."

Ben had sulked for a good ten minutes before realizing that he was just wasting his time that he should be spending reading to get the terrible book done as  _quickly as possible_ and got back to it.

"The main character got kidnapped!" He informed Amy, about an hour later. "Can I stop now?"

"No!"

Another hour later, Ben flipped a page only to find the words TO BE CONTINUED written in a font that seemed to be laughing at him. The characters were in the middle of running from... giant evil ravens.

"I finished!"

Amy was in his doorway in the blink of an eye. Grinned maliciously. "How'd you like it?"

He fixed her with a death glare. "It deserves to  _burn_."

Amy pressed her lips together to mask a more genuine smile. "Well, we just might get to do that."

"What?"

Amy sauntered in, folded herself into lotus position on the floor. "Well. Tulpas aren't all that common. The last sighting of them was about oh, nine years ago? Ten? A pair of brothers that Garth knows ran into one of a homicidal old man ghost created by a really stupid set of teenagers and a ghost hunting site."

Memories twanged in the back of Ben's skull, but he shoved them back where they came from. "Great. So, how'd they kill it?"

Amy started twisting her hair into a bun - Ben was starting to recognize it as one of her nervous habits. Or possibly thinking habits. Being a hunter, they were practically the same thing. "Well, um, they tried changing the tale so that the monster would change too. Like, to make it afraid of a certain gun, and be able to be killed by it."

"Tried?" Ben said, trying not to sound like he was dreading the answer as much as he was. "As in, they died?"

Amy startled, dropping her cool of hair. "What? No." She laughed. "They're actually one of the biggest baddest hunter pairs out there. Still going strong. But the website crashed before the tale could change."

"Oh." Ben felt mildly reassured by that. "What  _did_ work, then?"

"Burning down the house." Amy said simply. "So, I'm thinking we burn down the books."

Ben saw a problem with that. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but haven't people bought the books? How are we supposed to get them all?"

Amy glared at him. "Well, that's your job to figure out. I'm the one who's figuring out how to kill the guy." And then she sighed. "The book wasn't helpful. From what I could tell, the dude's immune to bullets. Also swords."

"What about knives? Daggers-" but then Ben froze. "Oh god. Oh  _God_."

"What?" Amy 'accidentally' kicked his shin as she sprang to her feet. "Ben, what?"

"eBooks." He said. "What if it's an eBook? How would we get rid of those?"

Amy's face drained from slightly agitated pink to a colour rivalling the ghost from the shop. "Oh god."

Ben lunged for his phone, a simple thing, but it still had Internet. He googled THE RAVEN WIZARD and breathed out a sigh of semi-relief. "It's not out on eBook. But..."

"I hate the word 'but'." Amy said sourly. "It always means 'disregard my previous statement because it's about to get worse'."

Ben offered a sickly smile. "Yeah. Well, it isn't out  _yet_. We've got until Thursday."

They both looked at the car calendar on Ben's wall in unison, took in the fact that it was Monday. Night.

Amy voiced their opinion first. "Ugh."

Ben had another couple something's to say about it as well. They both blinked a few times, as if the calendar would correct itself. It didn't.

"Well." Ben tossed the book to Amy, who caught it easily. "Looks like we've got an appointment at the bookstore tomorrow. Wouldn't want to miss the author."

 


	18. An Author & Four Fans

The author was late.

Amy and Ben were sitting in the front row of the nearly empty bookstore. Chairs had been set up, five rows of ten mouldy green plush and fluorescent orange plastic.

Amy was fuming at having to come at all, but Ben had had a long, irritating day at work and he was in no mood to go to this terrible book's author party alone. He'd dragged Amy from her rapt contemplation of the shelves to a plastic chair with the least amount of mould. He felt that he should receive an award for chivalry or something, seeing as the chair he was forced to sit on was hardy any plush, seemingly consisting fully of crusty lichen or something similar.

He shifted again, trying to find a more comfortable position. The unknown matter crackled threateningly and he froze, not wanting to aggravate it further. Amy cackled beside him, intent on her book. The title also contained the word 'Raven', which was enough to turn him off the book on sight.

Amy mumbled a few words about a colour and possibly someone named 'Roman' before Ben had to elbow her. She nearly decapitated him with her bookmark before Ben managed to convey the message of  _Author! Author here! Don't kill me!_ in some sort of sign language as the other three teen girls there shrieked and cheered as if being presented with One Direction on a silver platter.

The author was the kind of person Ben immediately associated with the stereotype 'writer' - sallow skin from sitting too long in front of a computer and a face that looked like it had frozen mid-lemon-chew years ago. She was wearing a horrendous grey dress that made her look like an elephant.

Ben tried not to have first impressions, he really didn't, but this author didn't look like she'd be of any help. They'd be better off waiting a year for the next book to solve this damn case, at this rate.

The book had been terribly written, with a plot compiled by a seven year old with a set of word fridge magnets. Characters randomly appeared and disappeared, including the villain. And of course, there was  _no_ information on how to kill the villain, or even where he had taken the girl. The majority of the book was badly written kissing scenes that had made Ben cringe and Amy go for the nearest sharpie.

The characters had been to preoccupied with making out and being chased by random large-evil-Raven-riding-ninjas that they didn't actually say anything about where, when, what, and  _how_ they had been taken captive. Ben was considering sending up his second ever prayer to see if the angels could be of any assistance in coaxing likely non-existent information out of her.

Just as Ben began to peruse his minuscule mental database on angels in an attempt to find a sympathetic one (Gabriel, a fun-loving-archangel seemed to be his best bet at the moment) when Amy got her payback by elbowing him sharply in the stomach. He  _oofed,_ shot her a nasty look. The words  _Author! Author here! Don't kill me!_ were again conveyed, this time in the opposite direction.

With a smile somehow even faker than Amy's, Ben turned his attention to the elephant lady. She was currently coughing over the podium and gulping glasses of water. She seemed to be about to speak, so Ben refrained from making a snide comment to Amy.

"Lovely young people!" The author gasped out, sounding like she was trying to steal their souls rather than greet them. "Welcome to THE RAVEN WIZARD's official meeting!"

Ben had a few choice opinions he wanted to share about THE RAVEN WIZARD but he kept them to himself as the trio of high schoolers gabbled out questions.

"What happened to Arcadia and Toltenmy? Did they get away from Exelharberd?"

"Ohmygawd Toltenmy is  _so hot_ can I have his babies?"

"Why doesn't like, Exelharberd just like, sic his uber Raven on them? Cause like, he has one, right? For his own personal Raven? Cause like, Exelharberd is  _sooo_ great!"

A fourth voice spoke up; so high and saccharine Ben almost didn't recognize it at first. "Like, what was the deal with the kidnapping? Why did Exelharberd take them away? Like? Where did he take them?"

Ben glanced over, and almost had a heart attack when he saw Amy was gone from the chair beside him. The mould on his chair squelched as he whipped back to the front in time to see Amy fan herself with her heavily sharpie'd copy of THE RAVEN KING.

Her expression said  _Ohmygawd fan._ Her voice said  _caffeine_. Her eyes asked  _help_.

Ben was too busy trying not to laugh to be of any use.

"Girls, girls." The author said condescendingly, like a crow on steroids. "Sit back down and I'll-"  _cough_  "answer all of your  _lovely_ questions."

Amy practically bounced back to her seat to pause and kick Ben in the shin with her heavy-toed riding boots. His eyes teared up, and he gripped his shin as Amy giggled facetiously and pretended to whisper something cute in his ear while threatening to castrate him if he didn't help her.

The author, and Ben checked his copy of the book to find her name, slightly amused that it hadn't occurred to him before this.  _Cressida Myfanlyn_ coughed a few more times. Gestured for another glass of water.

Oh, not a fake name  _at all._ Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes and check his phone for the time.

"Children." She finally cracked out. "I will tell you all about the tale of Toltenmy. He was in love with Arcadia from the second he saw her, although he couldn't admit it in front of his friends because he had an  _image_ to maintain." And then she caught sight of Ben, and the only reason he didn't try to sink out of sight was the memory of how  _much_ mould was on that chair.

"You!" Cressida said. "I'm sure you have quite the  _bad boy image_ to maintain." And Cressida seemed to look right through Ben's plain tee-shirt and jeans to his inner 'bad boy'. Although, Ben was wearing a leather jacket Amy had procured for him from Salvation Army.

His inner voice liked the jacket. Approved of how difficult it would make it for the various fanged and clawed menaces to get a bite or swipe in.

Ben almost smiled before he remembered where he was and scowled.

This made Cressida positively joyful. "Oh, see the dark look on his face! He is reaching for his persona as we break through his walls to his true self within!"

The girls all cooed in unison, even a slightly apologetic looking Amy. Ben scowled deeper, if that was possible.

"But we must reach for the pure soul within!" The author ground out gleefully. "Underneath that hardened exterior is a heart and gold, one that even someone intended for the White House will never lose-"

"I'm a mechanic." Ben deadpanned. "And I'm not a bad boy."

The girls all gasped in horror, as if being a mechanic was poisonous, not to mention the added insult of not being a  _bad boy._

Amy tittered loudly and gripped Ben's arm with nails of iron. "Oh, my bad sweetie just  _loves_ joking around!" And she shook his arm with the intensity she had reserved for his front door when they first met. His teeth rattled in his skull. "Right, Big Bad Benny?"

Ben scowled with more grandeur this time, tried to affect what he thought of as a brooding eyebrow look. "Now Amy, honey, don't reveal all my secrets." He not-so-quietly-not-so-whispery whispered.

More gasps, although these seemed more hormone induced than horror. Ben clutched Amy's hand back, attempting to crush a few fingers in recompense for this monstrosity.

She pinched a nerve cluster in his arm, making his fingers twitch open, and laid a smacking kiss on his cheek that Ben barely managed to avoid grimacing in disgust at. "Oh my big bad Benny! You're so like Toltenmy! I'm  _sure_ that Cressida - can I call you Cressida? - wouldn't mind sharing some deep bonding secrets with us?"

Cressida rubbed her hands together with anticipation. "Of course, dearies. What would you like to know?"

Ben felt Amy straighten at his side, felt the stiffness in her spine. "Well, it was  _soooo cute_ when Toltenmy managed to fight off Exelharberd? Cause like, I just  _know_ that in THE RAVEN MAGIC Toltenmy will kill Exelharberd to protect Arcadia because he loves her  _soooo much_."

She giggled again, stroked Ben's chest as Ben wrestled back the urge to fling Amy off him. She was getting a little  _too_ into role. "If my big bad Benny was to run into Exelharberd how would he kill him? Cause like, I heard in the paper there was like, a mummified Raven head found somewhere!"

Cressida looked suddenly uncomfortable, as she was understandably ill at ease with a kidnapper using her character signature. "Uh, he might want to call-"

"I know!" Shrieked one of the girls, the one with the curly brown hair. She was a little shorter than her companions, but she made up for it in verve. "I've got this like, epic fanfic-"

"Yes, yes." The author said quickly. She didn't want to hear about the fanfiction and get sued for using ideas. "I can't tell you that. It's one of the major things for THE RAVEN MAGIC, out December tenth next year."

Amy wailed like a dying gazelle, and the curly haired girl joined her. "But what if Exelharberd comes for me?"

"Or me!" Piped up another girl. "My cousin was at another school and she said she heard a bunch of like, Ravens!"

Cressida looked like she wanted to flee. Gulped down water and looked at her watch. Feigned surprise. "Oh no! Girls! I have to go! It's  _writing time._ Don't forget to buy the e-Release on Thursday!"

Amy imitated a dying gazelle again, and this time all the girls joined her in a symphony of high-pitched doom. The author all but fled, leaving a group of four red-faced girls and a  _very_ grumpy Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holyhell weasel, this chapter was long. Pretty much... four times the first chapter. Man, all of you here from the beginning, I am so sorry. I sure hope that this is worth the agonizingly slow and short updates I've been giving you guys. This story and Crowley and their irritating natural ending spots. Ugh.
> 
> Okay, fine, it's like 6.73563218390805 times as long as the first chapter. 6.73563218390805 the apologies.
> 
> It's always so reassuring to go to my reads graph and scroll down and see like twenty people drop off each chapter... Every single story, no matter the site, does this. In original fiction, it's even more noticeable. Sigh. Everyone that's here and reading this, you all rock my socks off! Thanks so much for sticking with it. I know it's hard to plow through my authors notes that are longer than the chapters themselves, sometimes. I am trying to cut down.
> 
> A million thanks to all readers, regardless of... I don't even know. You're all stars. Make sure to tell me if I'm using far too many commas. ThatAloneOne out!


	19. An Argument & A Sharp Surprise

Ben hopped from his chair like it was on fire, stalking towards the exit of the store without waiting for Amy to follow. She busily commiserated with the girls, exchanged information, and joined a sulking Ben a good twenty minutes later.

They walked out into the cool night, the air smelling like rain, even though the clouds had already dumped their loads earlier that day. It smelled like spring, and Ben felt thankful that the winter was over. He never had liked the everlasting cold and biting snow.

As they walked to his Impala, Ben attempted to trip Amy no less than eight times. Then he tried pulling her heels out of her boots three times.

Amy kicked him in the shins then sprinted ahead to the car. Ben followed pursuit, threatening her with death and demons for making him endure such torment.

Amy ducked one way than the other, keeping the car between them. "Ha! Gotcha, Braeden! You ain't gonna jump over your precious car and leave boot marks on the roof, are ya?"

Ben reluctantly conceded long enough for Amy to climb in, then bolted around the side of the car in enough time to catch her clambering out.

Using a few of the moves Amy had been trying to teach him earlier that day, Ben put her in a headlock. "Apologize! That was  _awful!_ "

"You could've gone alone! You're the one who dragged me here!"

"I didn't think you'd act like a ten year old on a sugar high!"

Amy kicked him in his increasingly sore shins, then ducked out of his hold easily, silver knife appearing out of nowhere. She spun it around her hand like a baton, metal flashing bright in the dim streetlights. "Come at me bro, I dare you."

Ben leaned back against his car, trying not to visibly sulk. "Fine. Whatever. But 'Big Bad Ben'? Really?"

She shrugged, not losing track of the spinning weapon. "Hey, it worked. I got the girl's complete and absolute trust, as well as their emails." And then she tried to hide a smile and mouthed something like,  _And I totally didn't accidentally flash my knife at them NOPE_ and Ben pretended not to see it.

"And that's good for what, exactly?"

Amy chortled. "Did you even attend high school, Braeden? Teenage girls gossip like there's no tomorrow. I've got a straight line of information on this entire town. So much as a peep of," and she had to break off to throw her head back and  _guffaw_ , "Exelharberd, I'll know."

Ben just scowled again, mesmerized by the spinning blade. Amy's shaking shoulders, still laughing, shook it from its carefully planned path, and the sharp edge of the blade skidded across the back of her hand, a line of red springing up.

Ben jumped, reached for her hand. "Idiot, Amy. You've cut yourself."

To his great surprise, Amy whipped her hand back, drawing another line of blood up her forearm. "I'm fine, Ben."

He crossed his arms and tried to summon an Amy-worthy glare. "You've cut yourself doing fact spinning knife tricks. You're not fine. Can you get a demon infection? 'Cause the last thing to touch that knife was a demon. The  _inside_  of a demon."

He dodged another kick to the shins, frowned. " _Amy_."

She sighed gustily, stowed the blade away, back up her sleeves or belt or wherever it was that she kept the magical thing. "I'm  _fine._ "

And she turned her arm for him, so he could see the shallow cuts webbed with blue sparks, already fading into her normal skin tone. "It always does that. See?"

And before he could react, she'd brandished the knife at him and sliced open the back of his hand. Ben yelped and slammed back into the impala. "Ow!"

"Give it a sec," she said, unaffected. "It'll heal."

Ben gave it a full minute - not that he was counting the seconds or anything - before holding out his stinging hand to Amy. " _Its not healing_."

She frowned, eyebrows crawling towards each other like friendly caterpillars. "Huh."

Ben groaned. "Amy. Ow."

She smiled a little sheepishly. "Sorry. I dunno why it didn't work."

Ben walked back around to his side of the car, revenge temporarily forgotten. He rummaged through the glove box before finding a rag that he wrapped around his hand, hissing with the pain.

Amy slid in beside him, slammed the door with gusto. She'd told him earlier that she really liked the sound of his car door. Something about genuineness or something. Ben had been too busy complaining about THE RAVEN WIZARD earlier, and now he was too busy trying to stop his hand from bleeding over his precious leather seats to clarify.

He started the car and pulled out, mentally planning how to get back at Amy for this nights events. Oh, and tried desperately to figure out how to make this screwed up situation work out in their favour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since last update was so long, this is the fallout. Short. I could've tinkered with them and made them a little more even but... You know. Natural ending points and all. CROWLEY! *shakes fist angrily*
> 
> Hoping that soon updates'll be back to normal.


	20. A Plan & A Raven Search

"I've got a plan." Ben told Amy from his position beneath a car. It was still mid-morning, so Ben was at work. Again.

"Oooh!" Ben heard, as he rolled out and Amy looked up from her book for the first time that day. Ben found it irritating, being that it was Wednesday and the book was online on Thursday. They didn't have much time. "What is it?"

"My  _plan_ is for you to read the actual book we're trying to get information from."

Amy looked positively murderous. "Ask me anything about the book."

Ben picked it up from his trolley, flipped towards the back. "What does Toltenmy say to her as they're-"

"Escaping." Amy finished. "He said 'You're the jammy cookie to my overly British tea'."

Ben gaped. Amy smirked. "When you've got as good memory as I do, then you can judge." Then she looked somewhat sheepish. "I may have a plan. About the eBooks."

Ben made a  _Do go on_ gesture. Stood, cracked his back, and began fussing with the door hinges.

Amy yanked a phone out of her pocket, a different one than she'd used last time. This one had a wolf doodled in sharpie on the white back. "Called Garth. He called some friends. They called a friend who happens to be a genius hacker back from Oz - don't ask, cause I don't know - and she got into the files and deleted it from the company's servers. All we gotta do now is get a USB with a hacker program to Cressida Fakename and we're golden."

"Oz?" Ben repeated incredulously.

"Get over yourself, Braeden." Amy replied. "If you've ever thought about it, it's happened. Usually to those friends of Garth. I wouldn't be them if you paid me a million dollars."

His head twinged, and Ben winced and massaged his temples, trying to stave off the sudden headache. He'd been getting to many of those. Maybe it was to do with the fact that Oz was real.

He'd kind of seen ghosts coming. Maybe werewolves and vampires too. But  _Oz_?

Amy went back to cackling at her book.

Ben tried to think of where the girls could have been taken. It had to be somewhere posh, to match the pattern.

That's when it hit him.  _Ravens._ Where had he been getting the raven heads? In the book, he decapitated his pet ravens. But in this world, Ben doubted he had a bazillion ravens at his beck and call. He'd need to find them somewhere...

Google, his ever-helpful friend, informed him that ravens had been sighted in a nearby park up until recently. This park was also coincidentally next to a recently purchased housing development.

Ben texted Amy the information, knowing she was unlikely to look up from her book again in such a short period of time.

He thought it was ridiculous, the way she was reading. They were on a  _case._ Two girls had been kidnapped, the books still needed to be collected and burned, and a backup plan needed to be devised for if the book burning didn't end up killing this Exelharberd guy. And Amy was just reading.

But then he heard a slightly muffled giggle and saw her try to stifle another guffaw with the palm of her hand, and thought of her dead eyes and blank "Lesson two: you can't save everyone." And the  _look_ on her face when she told him he reminded her of Tate - the longing and despair. And he couldn't blame her for escaping.

Ben groaned, admitted to himself that he was a softie, and got back to hammering away at the car.

He couldn't help but wonder who Garth's friends were. They'd come up in conversation a couple times, usually as a reference to something ridiculous like a Tulpa or Oz. Oh, and apparently they had a BFF hacker that could get into a publishers database easy as pie.

_Pie_.

Ben had almost forgotten about the clues again. He'd meant to ask Amy, but had held off on the grounds that insanity wasn't a great selling feature on a newbie hunter. Older one, yes, maybe. Newbie? They were supposed to be the relatively stable ones.

Or so Ben thought. He also thought it likely they were all completely nuts.

Amy cackled again, sounding much like the evil ravens they were hunting. Ben hoped that Exelharberd wouldn't get up to his massive-raven schemes, because even though he'd taken some self defence courses, murdered a Mr. Moriarty, and taken a crash course in Amy Hunting Tactics, he was in no way prepared to deal with gigantic killer ravens.

He also realized that there was a ninety percent chance  _minimum_ that he was going to have to deal with gigantic killer ravens, if his luck was anything near as bad as Garth's friends seemed to have it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. The chapter length starts to even out here for a bit. Sorry for the ridiculousness. And I'm late again, I know. So sorry!


	21. Another Author Talk & A Suggested Murder

Ben managed to finagle himself out of work early on that Wednesday. He and Amy had an appointment to keep as fanidiots at the authors pre-e-release.

This author really wasn't giving up easily on this book. It should never have gotten this far, but she'd clearly self-published the heck out of it and bribed the bookstore somehow into letting her have non-stop publicity.

The same three girls were there again, although they seemed more subdued then last time. They were on their phones, squealing and fangirling excessively. The shortest, curly haired one, seemed more mature about it, or possibly just more smug.

Ben sunk into the least mouldy chair this time, letting chivalry die, as it should. The stacks of books in front of him looked identical to yesterday - only five copies missing. His, Amy's, and one each for the girls.

That made it easier, he supposed. They just had to... And he winced and averted his eyes at the thought. They just had to break in tonight and burn all the books. And give the author a hacker program USB to wipe her hard drive.

Ben felt guilty about that. This could be this woman's life's dream, a manuscript she'd worked on for years and millions of hours. And they were just going to burn it all down.

The he saw Cressida, this time decked out in an outfit that was the exact colour of a moose.

He stopped feeling guilty when she rudely shushed her only three fans and one faker, and starting talking about how she started writing.

"One day," she said between coughs and copious applications of water Ben wasn't so sure wasn't actually something that caused intoxication and just looked like water. "About three months back... I heard about this novel writing thing and participated. I created perfection in,"  _cough_  "fourteen days and then bundled it off to publishers. It was too good for them, so I published it all on my own. For you."

And Ben became remarkably sure that the liquid wasn't actually water when she took another chug and practically choked out a lung.

The girls whispered and elbowed each other and looked smug, bent over their devices again. Ben frowned. Weren't they excited? The book had come out like, five days ago, max. And they were already over it?

Amy scooted one seat away. Ben glared. She scooted another seat towards the girls. Ben gave up, reclining against the seat and trying not to draw attention to his apparent 'bad boy' self.

Moving was a mistake. Cressida rounded in him, nostrils flared, gripping the podium with one hand to keep herself upright. "My beauuuuu-" and she kept going until she ran out of breath, not unlike a moose mating call. "-tiful baaaaaaaad boy. How are you today?"

Amy, halfway across the rows of seats, shot him a pleading look.  _Distract her._

Ben wanted to just shrivel up and die. But for the sake of the case, he managed to choke out a "Fine."

He tried for an intimidating look, probably looked out of his mind.

Cressida smacked her hands together, letting go of the podium and nearly tipping over. "Oh my sweetling! Would you like to be in THE RAVEN MAGIC? I'm starting it tomorrow!"

"Didn't you say it was 'writing time' when you left yesterday?" Ben asked, not looking up from his pained intimidation of the podium.

She waved that aside as if it was a birdie and she was playing badminton. Took another swig of her  _totally not alcoholic_  beverage "Every time is writing time. Oooh!" And she teetered frighteningly as she grabbed for a pen. "I have to write that down."

Ben looked helplessly at his friend, now only a seat away from the giggling girls. He got another  _Do it!_  gesture, and steeled himself. "I would uh... Love to be included in THE RAVEN MAGIC it would mean a lot to me because I'm a bad boy?"

Amy gave him a thumbs up. He gave her a death glare.

Cressida squealed deafeningly. "Oh how  _lovely_! How would you like to die?"

Ben was flabbergasted. "What?"

She flailed as if by swinging her arms she'd create a PowerPoint on her fantastic explanation. "Well, of course! Only Arcadia and Toltenmy survive the final conflict!" She studied him. "Death by drowning? What about getting eaten by a raven?"

"Only if it's one of the gigantic ones." Ben risked another glance at Amy, who looked absolutely stunned. And was absolutely ignoring everyone by the three girls. He lowered his voice. "It just wouldn't be  _manly_  to be killed by a regular size raven."

He mindlessly argued with the author over his characters death, his mind whirling. She'd given out a spoiler. Was this entire town going to die because of Exelharberd? This  _sucked_.

On the other side of the room, Amy bolted to her feet, sending her chair hurling backwards and reverberating against the wall. She tackle-hugged the curly haired girl, and ran out the door practically screaming with excitement.

Ben stood too, gave Cressida a sickly smile. "My girlfriend just can't take the excitement anymore. I'll just..." And he scrabbled in his pocket for the USB, bringing it out. Amy had doodled a raven on the side, and although it wasn't Picasso, it wasn't terrible either. "Accept this boon."

Her eyes lit up, mad and alcohol furled. "A gift?" She lurched toward him, and he shoved the gift as far away from himself as possible. She snatched it up, turning it over and over in her hand. "Beauuuuuu-"  _moose call_  "just like you. I will make sure to murder you magnificently."

Ben fled after Amy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Amy isn't making you at least mildly suspicious, then I'm doing a terrible job as an author. (Not like SHES EVIL suspicious but HMM SUPERNATURAL suspicious.) Hope you guys are having a great week!


	22. Fanfic & Chocolate Bars

Amy was bent against the side of the Impala, shoulders shaking silently. He thought she was crying for a split second before she gasped in a breath and let out a positive  _howl_ of laughter.

"What the hell, Amy?"

She ran out of breath and actually fell over, still laughing. "The fanfic... Is better than... The book." She wheezed. "Linda wrote a better... Fanfic... Than the book."

"What?"

She managed to take in another breath, released more helpless laughter. "Oh, ha ha  _ha_!"

Ben rolled his eyes and her and got into the drivers side. "Really."

A little under five minutes later, Amy swung the door open and slid in. Her hair was a mess, usually straight chestnut hair now crumpled and almost curly. Her face was bright red, but Ben couldn't tell if it was from the excessive laughter or embarrassment. It was getting dark already, with only the last pink glow on the horizon and orange streetlights to illuminate them.

"Done?" He asked.

She nodded, swallowed another giggle. "Sorry. It's just... When we burn those books, all that'll be left is a gorgeously written fanfiction. And that's hilarious."

"I'm sure."

She punched his arm. "Oh, shut up, 'Bad Boy Ben'."

"I will kill you for that," he said cheerfully. "Or possibly shave off your hair. You sleep deeply, right?"

Her hand went to her head. "Hey! No! I wake up easily. Don't you  _dare_!" Then she punched him again. "Sorry. Needed a distraction." And she pulled three copies of THE RAVEN WIZARD out of her jacket. Dangled them. "Got all three of their books."

Ben begrudgingly admitted that was good. "Just need to break in to the store, then?"

"Yep." Amy started twirling her knife around her hand again, and Ben scowled at it and wondered where the hell she kept the thing. It just kept... Appearing. And the back of his hand still stung.

He waited. No more info was forthcoming. "Do you know how to disable an alarm system, then? Or what time the store closes?"

"Yep."

"Is that all you're going to say?"

"Nope."

Ben groaned. "You suck."

"Yep."

Ben had to laugh at that. Amy tried holding back a snicker, but it was a hopeless case. They were teenagers, after all. Children in a war.

The streetlights illuminated a large patch of cement and defunct neon signs and pavement up ahead, and Amy elbowed Ben. "Turn!  _Turn_!"

He did an axle-tearing wheel-squealing turn into the parking lot on a dose of pure adrenaline, pulled the parking break and scrabbled for the rock salt. "What? What?"

Amy calmly opened the door and stood in the parking lot, popped her back. "Candy run."

" _Amy!_ We could've crashed!"

"We didn't." She said, heading towards the shop. Ben recovered from his heart attack slowly, finally getting his heart rate back down to a manageable level just as Amy hopped back in, with  _three bags_  of candy. He stared, aghast.

"What the hell, Amy?"

"Candy cravings." And she unwrapped a Mars bar and shoved the entire thing in her mouth. "Get them occasionally. Like, at least once a week." Wrappers crackled as she unwrapped a package of Rolos and began popping them in her already full mouth, one after the other. "Possibly more than once a week."

Ben watched in a kind of stunned horror as Amy devoured another five candy bars in less than four minutes. She didn't show any signs of slowing down, either. Ben hadn't seen that kind of stomach since a pie eating competition... Some time ago. He frowned. Dug out his book and wrote down  _Disconnected image of pie contest. Never been to one._

Amy, through a mouthful of snickers, gestured to the parking brake, then ignition, and grunted. Ben took this to mean he should get driving so that they could get some sleep before heading out to break into the bookstore.

With a start, Ben realized it had been a week since his world turned on its head. A week since the blood-red car with a ghost in tow had rolled into his shop and his life and set itself on fire.

A week since all the clues starting throwing themselves at him.

Ben's clues.

Ben's new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's about here I start to feel proud of myself for bringing it full circle with the whole "Ben's Clues" thing. Ben's come full circle with the clues and la di dah, you guys don't care. Ahem. Anyway.
> 
> There should be about seven chapters more of this case, I think. Then comes the in between-cases-plot time, in which the Winchesters and various other characters PPP in and go HEY GUYS.
> 
> And I'm really sorry to say it, but after the case, it's back to Tuesday only updates. I'm catching up on myself far too quickly and not a ton of new writing has been happening between parts of having a life. At least there was twice weeklys for a good while, right?


	23. A Heist & A Burn

Amy's candy wrappers crinkled in her pockets as they pressed themselves against the side of the book store. Ben shot her a nasty look that said, with some curse words thrown in,  _You're being loud!_

Her expression replied, with some curse words thrown in,  _Do you know how to get through the alarm? Or pick a lock? No. Then shut up_.

Amy had told him that there was a camera out front, and he needed to keep himself out of view of it as much as possible because she wasn't sure that's Garth's friends' friend would be available to hack them out this time.

Again, Ben resolved to determine whether these so called "friends" were real, or if Garth had just made them up because they had  _seriously_  done far too much. If they were real, he was surprised they were still alive, having gained a large portion of Satan's luck.

Feeling ridiculous, Ben crept around the side of building, followed by Amy, who managed to pick the lock in a matter of seconds, then ran for a blinking box on the wall and did something indecipherable that made it stop looking like it was about to detonate.

"C'mon!" she whispered, making her way to the table. Ben watched with trepidation as she started to shovel books into a massive satchel. Ben took out his own duffle bag and started loading.

For such a terrible, self-published, book, there sure were a lot of copies. And each weighed a goodly amount. Ben hadn't been able to bring his car, what with the rare make and instantly recognizable neon green. They would have to lug these books out themselves.

A second duffel bag was filled by Ben, and a massive IKEA blue plastic bag was filled by Amy. After that, there was exactly two books left, at which they laughed and each took a book for their inner jacket pockets.

It took triply as long to get out of the store lugging a nearly literal tonne of books. When they started heading down a side street, they heard a car coming and had to duck against the side of the building shrieking like small children and Amy had pressed herself up against Ben and wound her arms around her neck make it look like they were about the average college students with random duffels behind them.

The car cruised by before Amy got too close, and she jumped back like she'd been shocked and brushed herself off while making disgusted faces. "Kissing.  _Ew_."

"Thanks," Ben said. "I feel loved."

Amy looked almost surprised that he hadn't made some sort of crude comment, but then she shook her head, letting her hunter side take back over. "We're almost there."

"You know," Ben said, almost philosophically. "You never actually told me where we're going to be burning these books. Won't anyone, you know, notice? Plumes of smoke? Fire?"

Amy cackled, and Ben shot her a concerned look as she hauled the duffel and IKEA bag over her back. "Nope. Got this obligatory abandoned building that all towns seem to have."

"A warehouse?"

She grinned. "Better. Wal-Mart."

There was indeed an abandoned Wal-Mart in Ben's hometown, something he was dismayed to discover. It felt like he'd discovered a dead cockroach lying in his macaroni.

The Wal-Mart was locked, but it didn't stay that way for long. The empty interior felt like a mausoleum - steel shelves of abandoned merchandise standing like silent sentinels. Some had fallen, denting the linoleum like footprints beneath a goliath.

They set up shop in a relatively clear area in the middle of the store, a spot where the only debris had been a toy zebra, stuffing leaking out it's side and into a small pool of... something dark and crusty on the floor.

Amy instructed him on how to effectively burn books (set them up like they were logs) and then set to shredding some pages as tinder herself. It took an absurd amount of effort to have anything that would be capable of burning.

She set up a little pile of tinder inside the massive caverns of books, and then stepped back and produced a massive container of lighter fluid, which she proceeded to happily spray all over the triplicate of leaning stacks.

Ben eyed them with distrust. "Are you sure they're going to burn?"

"No." She shook the last bit out over the nearest pile, chucked the tin over her shoulder. It clanged against a felled shelf, metal against metal ringing eerie bells. "But since there's something supernatural connected to it, that'll give it oomph. Somehow."

Ben accepted this, and took a step back as Amy lit the match. He didn't want anything to explode on him. Not that anything was going to explode. Right?

The match hit the first stack, and enormous plumes of flames erupted, a volcano of fire and toxic smoke. His eyes stung in the heavy smoke, and he grabbed for the bags. Ben bolted out of there pretty fast, half-remembered facts about chlorine content in book pages and chlorine being the poison gas of choice for WWI.

He grabbed Amy, who was standing transfixed by the fire, and dragged them both out of there. Ben half expected something to blow up the second they were clear, but nothing did. Just belches of smoke and the sound of paper crumbling to ashes and the smell of dying ideas.

Well, Ben really hoped the ideas were dying along with the terrible plot. They'd call the police, leave an anonymous tip to search the house and get the girls free. As much as he felt horrible about not going and rescuing them himself, he knew that the police could do it. And it was past midnight, and he had his job in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The case sure seems over, doesn't it? Totes. Mmhmm.
> 
> I think the whole fire-burns-better-with-a-supernatural-connection thing has to have at least some basis in reality. No way would everything burn that fast and that thoroughly without a bit of magical help. Personal headcanon.
> 
> Anyhoozle, I hope you guys enjoy fight scenes! Because I really like writing them, and am particularly proud of the ones in the near future. Thanks so much for sticking with me, and I'll hopefully see you on Saturday! This story is mainly posted on fanfiction.net, after all. Sometimes I can only grab a couple minutes to post something and it comes first. But I do try to get it up here ASAP!


	24. Relaxation & Ravens

They stumbled back to his apartment, coughing and occasionally trying to kick each other in the shins in payback for things they were really too sleep deprived to remember. Amy managed to cripple Ben for long enough to get the first shower, trying to scrub the smoke and ink off her skin.

Ben chucked his duffels into his washing machine, hoping that the thick canvas and long zipper wouldn't do irreparable damage to the aging, ailing, device.

Amy took forever in the shower; coming out fully dressed again, this time in her usual sleep attire of heather grey sweats and a sunset pink tank top. It was, in Ben's opinion, overly fancy for pyjamas.

Ben took his shower, getting a good five minutes of hot water before it ran out, which was more than he'd expected to get. His mother... well, Lisa had always spent eternity in the shower after teaching yoga. She always claimed she was just washing her hair, which had grown out to her waist, but sometimes Ben would walk by and hear her crying under the pounding water.

His inner voice spoke up again, and Ben jumped, cracking his head into the showerhead.  _This shower pressure is_ ** _awesome._**

Great pearls of wisdom, his inner voice imparted. Ben scoffed at himself, and stood dripping in the shower for another few minutes before trying to start the water up again. It came in warm, thank god, and he finished up.

His pyjamas were just an old grey shirt he'd dug up from his mothers attic, something worn and soft and somehow comforting, along with his one concession to geekhood, with pyjama pants covered in logos from one of his favourite TV shows.

Amy wandered back into his living room, snickers bar and lemon honey tea in hand. Ben was still unsure how it qualified as 'tea', given as it was lemon juice, honey, and water, with no sort of tea leaves in sight, but Amy wasn't exactly someone who liked being questioned about strange habits.

She frowned at him. "It's cold in here."

"It is." he agreed.

The slight frown morphed into a full on scowl, and she repeated herself with a little more irritation. "It's  _cold_  in here."

Ben caught on. "Oh. Right. Would you like another blanket?"

Amy turned all smiles and innocence. "Yes! I'd love one! How thoughtful of you!"

Ben snorted. Padded to his cupboard, withdrew two blankets. One was a kind of fine-carded wool, tiny spaces showing through the red pattern. It was warmer than it looked, but that wasn't saying much. The other was navy, with muted pink and green stripes, thicker than the red one.

They were both old blankets, taken from Ben's home, last year when he moved out. Lisa had almost seemed surprised at the sight of them, like they were foreign items in her home.

Ben reached for his clue book instinctively, realized that his pajama pockets were empty and nearly had a heart attack.  _No salt. No knife. No book._

He tossed the navy blanket to Amy, ignored her confused look, and fled to his room to restock. The salt was already sectioned off in Ziplocs in his jean's drawer, but his book and knife took some more finding.

Amy had given him the knife, a weathered old thing with a silver plated razor sharp blade. The handle was worn down to a silky sheen, pressed from hand to hand, passed from death to life over and over again. It was a legacy knife, a thing that hunters passed down to each successive line. Amy had said that Garth had gave it to her when they met, said it with a laugh. Said that Garth had been eager to be rid of it, seemed overly pleased that she liked it.

Of course, she'd then gotten an even better knife from another hunter, traded completion of a difficult hunt for a brand-new knife, one carved to fit her hand. Oh, and the really weird possibly-silver knife that always seemed to come out of a sleeve or pocket at opportune moments.

Silver was apparently the best kind of knife to have. Killed everything from werewolves to, when soaked in lamb's blood, jinn. Ben hadn't been pleased to learn about  _those_  monsters. If he hadn't already been waking up in a cold sweat half the mornings from unremembered dreams, he would've complained that it would give him nightmares.

The knife, blade wrapped in a section of cloth so Ben wouldn't accidentally murder himself, went in Ben's belt, and the salt and book in his pocket. He walked back out to the main room, satisfied that he was protected.

Amy was lounging on his sofa, curled up with the non-Tulpa-producing raven book, both the navy blanket and the thinly woven red blanket wrapped around her. She looked peaceful, for herself. No dead eyes, no twitching fingers, no spinning possibly-silver knife.

The room practically ached with tired peace, the calm mind at the end of a day when you're satisfied with the day's work. Ben was. His first hunt - well, first  _real_  hunt, first hunt in which he was actually  _hunting_  - had ended well. The books had all burned, and an anonymous tip had been left with the police. The girls would be fine.

And Amy was peaceful and tired; head tucked against the side pillow, a small smile making her look much younger. Ben was at peace, leaning against the wall in the hallway and trying to get his knife to spin around his hand like Amy's did, just once, before he headed off to sleep.

The peace ended in shatters of time and screams when the first gigantic raven shoved its way through the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. Here's where the action scenes start to kick in. Hold onto your seats, because this ride's ready to roll! See you Tuesday with some raven battles!


	25. Gigantic Homicidal Ravens

To Ben, his windows weren't usually a thing of note. There was one in his bedroom, over his bed, that he usually kept blinded as to not wake him up at ungodly hours. Then there was the bigger one, in the backside of his living room, facing out into an astounding eight feet of space between his window and a dingy brick wall.

This eight feet of space was currently being taken up by what sounded like dozens upon dozens of giant killer ravens, each trying to murder each other in their haste to climb through the window. From the one Ben could see in his window, wings flapping gusts as it tried to cram itself through the too-small window, it was nearly as tall as he was.

Amy was across the room before Ben could blink, somehow up from the sleepy sofa to letting out a war cry at the window, not-silver knife flashing. It hadn't been with her earlier, nowhere to be seen in her sweats and tight tank, but Amy wielded it like it was an extension of her arm, face set in amber, the amber light casting a strange glow on her face as the first raven got a knife to the eye.

Ben, not one to be outdone, sprinted across his no longer uninteresting living room towards the shattered glass and gigantic homicidal (he assumed, by its attempts to eat Amy's arm) raven. It didn't seem all that bothered by the conical blade sticking in its eye.

Its feathers were the colour and sheen of freshly spilled ink, its eyes globes of glossy black rage, beak a fuller black like the soil from Pompeii. Glittering black eyes were far too intelligent, and Ben could've sworn it was enjoying this.

It hopped into the room, leaving tatters of bricks and shrapnels of glass on the floor. Glass dusted its wings, the lengths of which it shook out as it threw its head back and summoned its brethren. They started crowding through the window, and Ben's heart sank straight through his stomach to the floor.

Ben went for its skull with his silver knife, managing to glance it off its domed skull before it  _screamed_  a battle cry and cracked Ben across the temple with its sail-sized wing. Ben flew sideways into the wall, vision fuzzing to black at the edges. He landed hard on his wrist, felt the knife clatter away as he continued to roll.

More Ravens climbed in the window, four, five of them filling Ben's tiny apartment. More shrieked outside his apartment, croaking and all Ben could think of was that this must be what Hell sounds like, the screams of the tortured dead.

Through the throbbing and wetness at the back of his head, he heard shouting and what sounded like Amy, sweet Amy the unshakeable hunter, cussing like a sailor. A raven shrieking.

Then he felt a rush of air pressing down on him like a giant mattress, and hard talons wrapped around his ribs, digging in like knives. Still woozy, he tried to knock them away, scrabbling with his fingernails as his arms shook with adrenaline and pain.

Ben scraped his eyes wide open, fighting through the nausea and pain that made it feel almost dreamlike, as the talons clenched tighter until his ribs creaked under the strain, and he felt his head leave the floor.

It wasn't as dreamlike as he was thrown into the wall, saw it hurtling towards his face, heard Amy scream one last expletive, and then it was total blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short. Sorry. And this is the first chapter since the clues without an and in the title! I felt that 'Gigantic Homicidal Ravens' didn't exactly need an and. That's basically the chapter. Gigantic ravens that are very homicidal.
> 
> Anyway! *announcer voice* Thanks for watching, and we hope to see you soon! Now, onto the news...
> 
> At some point in the future (not anytime soon), instead of a usual update, there'll be a oneshot called Amy's Demons. It's from Amy's point of view, and it'll explain a whole lot about her and where she's coming from and all that jazz. It's about double the length of my usual chapters, too. You certainly won't have to read it, but it would probably be a good idea to. It happens at the exact same time as the update I'll be posting the week after that. Now, this is all planning. Subject to change. I just feel like its fair to warn you guys waaaaay ahead of time. I'm not all about surprises, unless they're plot related.
> 
> Have an awesome week! ThatAloneOne out!


	26. Exelharberd & The Ravens

The first thing Ben thought upon waking was how _wrong_ he had been a couple days earlier, waking to think that how he was feeling _then_ was sore.

_This_ was friggin' sore. His head felt like it was trying to stage a mutiny, tiny pirates hacking away at his brain on a mission to defeat the evil monster of consciousness.

The other evil monster of awareness prevailed, and Ben lifted his head, a thick crust of blood pulling at his scalp. His head was heavy, limbs sodden with a sudden sea of numbness. His ribs ached, lines of agony with each breath.

Needless to say, he wasn't having fun.

Feeling came back with a rush of pins-and-needles, and Ben almost wished it hadn't. He felt like jumping out of his skin to get away from the horrible prickling. He blinked frantically, trying to clear his sight and find something else to focus on besides the nerves ripping themselves apart.

It was then he realized he was slumped against a concrete wall that did not belong in his apartment, staring at a wall that was nothing like anything he'd seen before. If he had to try and place it, he'd say...

And Ben groaned loudly, ignoring the fire dancing in his ribs. The walls matched the overly flowery descriptions in the book to a T. Putrid pink tulip wallpaper, scored with gigantic talon scratches.

His brain started to catch up with him, and Ben grimaced as everything clicked into place. _The case. The homicidal ravens. The wall. Unconscious._

It followed Toltenmy and Arcadia's journey perfectly. Only, him and Amy weren't sickeningly in love. If anything, she was an irritating, overly intelligent, older sister he never wanted. He enjoyed being an only child, thank you very much.

In the back of his mind, the voice, again. Faded and indistinct, watery and pained. Overheard from miles away, eons away. _He was my brother. And I can't save him. Can't even_ _try_ _._

Ben shook off the sudden melancholy, stretched his mind back to the events of THE RAVEN WIZARD. What had Exelharberd done next?

The door in the right wall burst open with a clatter, door slamming itself into the wall with great gusto. A man stood in the doorway, framed by a cloak of wings. The wings were still attached to a slightly smaller than gigantic raven, hanging on his back and looking less than amused as Exelharberd flung its wings about with great grandeur.

"Egads!" Exelharberd exclaimed, flinging his wing-cloak out to the side. The raven squeaked, and the man frowned and continued gesturing. "Forsooth! Verily, for I have capturedth thee!"

Ben sighed heavily. Yes, he remembered this part. He wasn't totally sure what he was supposed to say, whether or not to follow the story.

Of course, the story had also been from Arcadia's point of view, and Ben wasn't a girl. Best to just wing it.

"Why have you captured me?" he asked. "Don't you already have another couple here to torture?"

Exelharberd whipped his raven wing to cover his face, not unlike Dracula. His skin was rough canvas over rocks, protruding cheekbones and jaw bones and lumpy muscles. Not attractive, and _not_ welcoming. His beady little eyes seemed to stare straight through Ben, to the flowers scored by claws behind him. "I haveth none other youngeth personas..."

Ben squinted at him. Man, how he _hated_ this book. Character. Author. Case. Life. "You kidnapped two girls."

Exelharberd reared back as if a cannon had been fired into his stomach, the Raven-cloak pounding the air with his wings to keep him upright. Stale smelling air rushed over Ben's face, and he coughed, ribs searing.

"Doth not speaketh of the heathens!" he screeched. "They dost noth inith love!"

Ben tried to take a deep breath, but the pain tore at him until he had to close his eyes again against the bright lights. The villain continued angrily muttering in fake Shakespearean, giving Ben a massive pounding headache.

Whatever Ben had originally expected from hunting, this wasn't it.

Exelharberd wound up his little rant with an approximation of a dying raven, and Ben blinked his eyes open even though it felt like he was stabbing needles through his eyes, one after another after another. Again, he saw the ravens bobbing behind the villain in the doorway, far more threatening than bodyguards could ever be.

He remembered trying to kill one, the way even Amy's knife hadn't deterred it.

Ben jolted. _Amy_. "Where's Amy? The girl I was with?"

Exelharberd began rubbing his hands together, a frightening look on his face. "Yon littleth girlfriend is fineth. Dost thou liketh to seeth her?"

_Girlfriend?_ "Yes I'd like that." _Surely she'll have a plan._

Exelharberd snapped, and the ravens popped to attention, heads tilted at angles that made Ben feel sick. "Taketh the boy to thine girlfriend!"

They were gentler this time, barely. Either that or Ben was already in so much pain the rest didn't register. He careened down the hall in the raven's grip, trying to catch sight of any other doors or windows or exits but it was a hopeless case. His eyes were watering with agony and it felt like he was trying to see through a rainstorm.

_Amy would have a plan._


	27. The Non Plan & The Knife

Amy did not, in fact, have a plan. But on the plus side, she wasn't nearly as beaten up as Ben was. Ben also remembered this as a component of the story - Arcadia had been pretty much fine.

Ben really was beginning to wish that that little voice in his head wasn't there, that the clues had stayed hidden. This  _sucked_.

_Family_ , it said.  _We don't abandon family._

And as Ben's head swam, Amy rippled into Lisa, looking so tired but still grinning through the exhaustion when he came home and she would sit him down and make him tell her all about his day. His mother, who Ben had called every single Sunday until now. And now it wasn't only his ribs hurting, but his heart.

He's forgotten to call. For the first time, he hadn't called. And maybe he wasn't going to make it home.

Amy startled him out of his reverie with a kick in the shin. Not a wimpy one - a full out, jaw clattering, kick in the shin.

Ben toppled backwards in what felt like slow motion, trying to remember when the hell this had happened in THE RAVEN WIZARD.

Exelharberd, somehow behind him, caught him and shoved him right back over. Amy caught him before he could break his nose on the floor, but her unforgiving grip around his ribs almost made him pass out.

She propped him up against a wall as if he was a mildly interesting mannequin, and turned to Exelharberd, demonic looking smile cemented in place. "My lord! May we convene this properly, with the other couple?"

The man looked pleased. "For thine saketh, I shall!" Another snap, and two ravens gusted out. They were back just as Ben figured out how to ignore the pain. Well, ignore it a little. He tried not to rely on the wall too much, but he felt like he'd just been thrown off a roller coaster.

The girls were polar opposites - one tall with chocolaty skin and very short hair, the other short and blond and even paler than Exelharberd. Their hands were entwined, grasping a last anchor to reality.

Ben's heart sank like a stone, plummeting from what he had thought was the bottom to something even lower. Exelharberd was looking for the perfect couple. A couple that didn't exist,  _couldn't_  exist. A couple like Arcadia and Toltenmy.

Amy was smiling at him, her sunbeam smile. "Thank you! Now me and Big Bad Ben can be  _happy_!"

_Oh god no not_ **_again_ ** _not the Big Bad Ben spiel._

Amy turned her sunbeam smile on him, and it didn't look so much like sunbeams as it did like laser eyes. "Right, my sweet?"

Ben grimaced. "Yes, exactly, Amazing Amriel." Amy gave him a death glare as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on. "And uh, I'd be even  _happier_  if..."

He wasn't really sure what he was going to ask for, but Amy's expression convinced him it would be better to ask for nothing at all, if he valued his balls. "If um, I could... get a hug from my Amazing Amriel?"

Amy gave him the required hug, put a careful arm around his waist to keep him upright, trying not to press against the rows upon rows of bruises. Her whole arm was cool through his soft shirt, especially her hand, and Ben could almost imagine that the bruises ached less. Her eyes were storm grey, hardened glass in a sunbeam smile.

Exelharberd looked positively ecstatic that they were saccharine sweet as the imaginary couple. "Seeth!" He told the shivering couple, huddled in the corner. "This is what thine relationships hath looketh like in an idealeth world!"

Amy and Ben exchanged a quick panicked conversation, consisting of many swear words and expressions that are beyond words. The general gist was communicated, the idea that they needed to figure out how to kill Exelharberd.

Amy actually smiled at that part, a glimpse of real sunlight in the dark room. Stuck her tongue out at him, quirked the side of her mouth.  _I can work with that._

The ravens though, killed her smile. They were rustling their wings loudly, the way the smart kid always rattles their papers on an exam, warning off the rest of the peasants. They weren't happy about not killing anyone, as evidenced by their glitter glass eyes and the pure  _hate_  they managed to exude in as simple a sound as rustling of feathers.

The girls in the corner huddled closer, avoiding eye contact with anyone or anything, flinching at every rustle of a raven. With a sick feeling, Ben remembered the police they'd sent to rescue them, wondered where they'd gone.

A raven belched, a remarkably human sound, and it carried a remarkably human scent of blood and cologne. Ben gagged, squeezed his eyes shut. They'd been eaten.  _Eaten_.

Exelharberd clapped his hands, delighted, small-child joy in his eyes. Amy maneuvered Ben, stepping them closer and closer to the girls, making a human shield between them and the ravens.

One of the ravens, slightly larger than the others, cocked its head. One way. The other. Its feathers parted in a rippled line across the top of its skull, a line that Ben's wrist throbbed in response to.  _The raven they'd tried to kill._

It turned its head, and Amy's hand, cold and soothing through the soft fabric, clenched a handful. His fingers spasmed.

The knife was still in its eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAM! I hope you guys are ready for MAJOR plot reveals and action scenes and a copious amount of gigantic homicidal ravens. And sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger. Mwahaha. The case is pretty close to concluding, so I'm reminding you that after its done, updates go back to being just Tuesday. See you!


	28. Shoddy Policework & Spleens

Ben repeated himself to the police for what seemed like the millionth time. They didn't seem to understand, also for the millionth time.

"So, you're saying this excel-whatsis ran for it? Just up and ran for it?"

Ben shrugged. "Well, my cousin," because that was the thing they had decided to go with when Ben stopped being inconveniently unconscious. "has taken karate for ages. And she uh, also threw a dead raven at his head?"

Yeah. Their explanation was totally bullet proof.

The officer scratched his bulbous nose with the edge of his notepad. "What's with the dead ravens, anyway? Were they alive when you got in there?"

_Were they freaking_ **_ever_ ** _._

Ben shook his head. "No. They were like that when I woke up. He dragged me into the room, where Amy was. Then the girls joined us."

Another itch of the frankly, quite impressive, nose. "That's what they said, yeah." An appraising look. "You look like you got shit out of a bird, kid."

_No kidding._  Ben smiled, but it ended up more like a grimace. "Yeah. I know." He took in a deep breath, still amazed that he didn't have broken ribs. "So, um, can my cousin and I get a ride home?"

The officer threw his hands up in exasperation. "Sure, kid. Got a psycho with a dead avian fetish on the loose, but screw them! Go home and rest!"

Ben wasn't entirely sure if he was being sarcastic or not, but he took him as sincere and trotted off to find Amy.

She was with an older officer, one with hair so white it was almost as bright as the headlights of the car. Amy was wrapped in an orange shock blanket, shivering occasionally, looking like she wanted to be anywhere but there.

Ben grinned as he walked up. "Officer Davidson said we could get a ride home now." he told the older man. "Would'ja mind?"

He ignored Ben, turning a squinty serious glare on Amy. "You're saying you fought him off? You're pretty scrawny. And you've got boobs-"

Ben coughed. Repeated himself with a little more vigour. "Detective, we've had a long night. Could you give my cousin and I a ride back to my apartment?"

"She's tryin' to steal your credit, boy." the detective said balefully. "You got muscles. You prob'ly beat him off."

Ben had to choke down laughter at the look on Amy's face, a notch up from the look she had given Exelharberd. He tried to head off disaster. Again. "My cousin is pretty badass, sir. Could we  _please_  get a ride?"

The man grumbled, but let them into the back. Ben climbed into the heat gratefully. It was a brisk May morning, and Exelharberd had been unkind enough to kidnap him while he wasn't wearing a coat.

Amy clambered in after him, blanket still wrapped tight around her shoulders. Buckled herself in, and leant slightly against Ben's shoulder. He didn't move, didn't say anything. Her eyes fluttered shut, and amazingly, she fell asleep.

The police car bumped and jolted it's way all the back to Ben's apartment, with Ben mentally planning a way to fix all the little whines the whole way.

"A'ight." their driver grunted. "Out, you two. Begone."

Ben shook the girl's shoulder slightly, jumped when she jolted upright, steely eyes popping open and awake within a second.

They both hopped out, 'thanked' the man, and made their way up to his apartment. It was still unlocked, Ben having not gotten around to it before sleeping earlier that... wow. Night.

Dawn had started creeping in halfway through the ride, pink and gold and orange streaks painting themselves across the horizon. It couldn't be much past seven in the morning, at this point.

He let himself in, and went straight for his phone. Dialed his work, started talking after the beep.. "Hi, this is Ben. I can't come in today. I kind of got kidnapped last night? Yeah. I actually got kidnapped, along with my cousin. So I seriously need to get some sleep. And I'd like Friday off too, if you don't mind. Thanks."

And he hung up.

Amy had left the orange blanket behind in the cop car, but she had already wrapped herself up in the thinly woven red plaid blanket. She was curled up on one end of the sofa, eyes closed. Not glowing any more, thank god. That would have been hard to explain to the cops.

Ben sat on the other end. Fidgeted. "Amy..."

She shook her head. "I don't know what the hell I did either. I just knew... knew I had to  _be_  there. And then I  _was_. Then my hand went up, like instinct, something like that, somehow. And then it  _burned_."

She lapsed into silence, and Ben huffed out something that could be construed as a laugh. "It was pretty epic, to say the least."

A slight smile graced her face. "Yeah. Kinda. But Ben, after the first one, it felt like I was setting my spleen on fire to get enough energy to do that."

"Your spleen? Specifically your spleen?" Ben couldn't help asking.

Amy kicked him in the shin, lightly this time. "Shut it. Seriously, though. I felt like someone had... I don't know. Hot-wired something inside me. It didn't feel natural, not like the teleporting and the first blast."

Ben shrugged. Didn't say anything. Amy sunk deeper into the blanket. Frowned slightly. "How'd the knife work, anyway? There wasn't anything about killing him in the lore, and Tulpa, as far as I know,  _is_  lore."

At this, Amy cracked a tired grin. "It was the fanfic." A sputtered laugh. "The Tulpa was created by a minuscule group - the author, me, you, and the three girls. When that curly haired girl wrote that amazing fanfiction - shut up, don't judge me - it basically  _became_  lore." And she shrugged, still grinning. "And I sorta? May have accidentally let her see my knife."

Ben whistled. "Well. That's actually... huh. Nice."

There was another period of silence, in which Ben's exhausted mind conjured images of Amy, turning with blue fire in her eyes, hand pressed to a skull and pillars of light ripping it to shreds. He shuddered, spine crackling and the hairs on the pack of his neck pricking.

"Well," he said eventually. "Looks like we got some research to do."

Snort. "You  _think_? I'm calling Garth in the morning." Then she looked out the shattered window, scowled. "The afternoon. Don't wake me up if you value the current uninjured state of your nether regions, Braeden."

Ben laughed at that, some of the tension leaking out as he stood and stretched. "Noted. I'll set up a spare sheet over the window, call the manager of the complex later. Sound good?"

"You're still talking, Braeden." Amy replied, sliding out over the rest of the sofa like a snake. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Ben rolled his eyes at her, even though hers were closed and she couldn't see. "Yes,  _Amazing Amriel_."

"If you ever call me that again, I'm calling Garth to tell him I quit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah Ben. Totally bulletproof explanation. Thank goodness cops are so useless in the universe!
> 
> Alright, this is the final wrapup of the case. Coming Soon: Plot! Have a fabulous week, and I'll see you next Tuesday.


	29. Amy Comes Home & Memories

Ben made it all the way to Sunday without actually talking to anyone. They hadn't woken up until nearly noon on the next day. Then Amy had sauntered off to wherever and Ben worked on his car.

His car. He  _loved_  his car, the apple green paint he kept painstakingly touched up. The grumble of the engine, rattling it's way into a full roar when Ben turned the ignition. The spaciousness - hell, he could fit a giant in the passenger seat.

Or a body in the trunk. Which clearly, with his new self-assigned job as hunter, was a necessity. He'd fact checked, folding his 5' 10 frame into the space. He'd fit. Easily.

And if that wasn't disturbing, well, Ben didn't know what was. He'd been influenced to buy this car, basically a perfect hunter-mobile. Clues hidden in clues hidden in his skull.

He still hadn't said anything to Amy. Ben was hoping she would say something about mental health or whatever and then he could casually slip it in there, instead of bringing up the topic himself and making himself look extra insane.

Ironically enough, the voice didn't have anything to say about that.

On Sunday morning, Ben received a call from the auto shop. They told him that the semester was over, and if he wanted to pursue his education, he would need to call them back.

Ben sat in silence in front of the phone for a goodly amount of time, torn. He wanted so badly to get his degree, graduate, live a normal life.  _Apple pie life,_  the voice said.

But the things that were out there... They were killing people. Amy's brother was gone, and as much as she liked to pretend she was okay about it, he saw the way she avoided mirrors. He would bet anything that her brother looked just like her.

Save himself, or save the others. That was what it boiled down to. Safe and sorry, or hunt.

He'd made his decision and was about to call them back when Amy swanned in. Her hair was tousled and some strands had been clipped short and bleached white. She was disheveled, knees of her jeans torn and bloodied. Her knife was nowhere to be seen, but Ben knew that didn't mean anything. She could've recently murdered someone and the knife would've disappeared just the same.

"Had a good weekend, Benji? Great. So glad." She shovelled a handful of knotted hair out of the way and sighed. "I'm gonna go detangle and crash. Use your room?"

"Sure- But where were you? It's Sunday." Ben gestured out the window with the phone still clenched tight in his hand. The noonday sun shone through the newly installed window. Ben had hidden in his room and pretended to be out while they were replacing it. "You ditched some time before I woke up on Friday."

"About noon Friday, yeah." she said, distracted. Blew another chunk of hair out of her face, and ducked into Ben's bathroom to retrieve her comb. Started tugging it though the rough strands. "Crud. Gonna have to have another shower."

She turned, and Ben caught sight of her eyes for the first time. Glassy, not with tears, but with exhaustion and pain. He reached for her arm, but she twisted away, kept attacking the rats nest of hair. "I'm  _fine_ , Braeden."

"Right." Ben shook his head. "What were you doing?"

Amy gave up, threw the comb down, motions jerky. "Throwing myself a birthday party."

"What?"

She huffed out a sigh. "I'm going to go have a shower. Don't wait up."

And she stalked into the bathroom and turned the shower up full blast, leaving an addled Ben standing in his living room, clutching his phone.

What was she so worked up about? It's just her...

_Oh_.

Ben's heart twisted in his chest. Tate was her  _twin_. They had the same birthday, and this was the first time she'd ever had to spend it without him.

Tate was still out there, hosting a demon, possibly dead. And Amy had made a friend, solved a case, gained a whole new set of powers. Ignored him.

Ben had never had a sibling, never had a father. But when he imagined losing his mother, his heart bottomed out and his stomach lurched. Snatches of dreams came back to him.

_His mother's screams, dark laughter behind it, revelling in terror. The warm trickling of blood against his skin, the sharp coolness of a knife against his throat and his mother's hair tickling his cheek as she laughed, eyes black._

The hairs on the back of his neck, electricity crackling.  _Black eyes. He'd dreamt about demons._ Another flash, and the plastic casing on the phone groaned in his fist.

_Another hospital bed, this one surrounded by beeping machines and his mother covered in tubes and she was_ **_dying_ ** _and Ben was so, so frightened._

The phone cracked, casing crumbling, and Ben dropped it, hands numb. And he remembered the man's voice, the voice in the back of his head and the one that seemed to lend itself well to tips on monsters and pie. Ben remembered him saying  _Sorry I'm so sorry._  And he remembered being so  _angry_.

The sound of the shower shutting off startled him out of his reverie, startling him back into the reality of the phone on the floor, crack spiralling down the side. Some muffled crashes sounded, and Ben winced. There went his toothbrush. And likely his razor too. And possibly the shampoo.

Graceful, Amy may be, but only when she felt like it. Other times, she could run straight into the stairs and tip over in slow-mo, still managing to look startled as she finally hit the floor with her nose and started cursing.

Ben snorted, bent to grab the phone. Ignored the dripping and other muffled clatters as Amy presumably attempted to put everything back where it belonged. It was like living in a china shop with a bull sleeping on the sofa. He dialled quickly, the number practically burned into his subconscious.

"... Auto Shop. How can I help you?"

"Hey," Ben said. "It's Ben."

"I got that," the other voice replied. The owner of the shop, for once. "Signing up for next semester?"

Ben shook his head, forgetting for a second that he couldn't see the motion. Then he laughed, rolled his eyes at himself. "No, actually. Some stuff has come up and... Can I postpone it? Come back and complete my degree later?"

A short silence. "Is this..." the owner said finally, carefully. "About Terry? Is it too much to work here?"

_Terry, bent over the front wheel of the car. Beside him, bolts and a wrench lay in disarray. His neck, a second smile grinning with gore. Terry's blood, once slicked in a barely-visible swath like an artful stroke of paint, was_ **_moving_ ** _. Creeping towards the gap in the paint like a river drawn towards a gully, twisted gravity pulling it in._

Mouth dry, Ben croaked out a "Yeah. Kinda."

"That's fine." The man said. "Take off all the time you need. I'll help you get back into it when..." An embarrassed cough. " _If_  you want to get back into it."

Relief filled Ben, shoulders dropping from around his ears and stomach unknotting itself. He took a deep breath for the first time in a long time. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "I'll come back someday."

"You do that." There was some muffled yelling, and Ben caught the words 'idiot' 'oil' and 'fire'. The man spoke up, sounding much more urgent. "Gotta go. Good luck with the time off." and then the line went dead.

Ben almost laughed.  _There you go. Easy as pie._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. I changed my mind. Back to twice weekly updates because I just can't leave you guys hanging, its just not fair. I enjoy posting this so, so much, with all the cackling as I wait for everyone to react to the newest plot developments. I'll try to keep it at twice weekly for as long as I can. This does increase the chance of an eventual stoppage (remember the chunky writing thing? Well, I'm in a barren chunk). Hope this is okay will all of you! Enjoy Ben's Clues. :)


	30. Amy Comes Home & Memories

Ben made it all the way to Sunday without actually talking to anyone. They hadn't woken up until nearly noon on the next day. Then Amy had sauntered off to wherever and Ben worked on his car.

His car. He  _loved_  his car, the apple green paint he kept painstakingly touched up. The grumble of the engine, rattling it's way into a full roar when Ben turned the ignition. The spaciousness - hell, he could fit a giant in the passenger seat.

Or a body in the trunk. Which clearly, with his new self-assigned job as hunter, was a necessity. He'd fact checked, folding his 5' 10 frame into the space. He'd fit. Easily.

And if that wasn't disturbing, well, Ben didn't know what was. He'd been influenced to buy this car, basically a perfect hunter-mobile. Clues hidden in clues hidden in his skull.

He still hadn't said anything to Amy. Ben was hoping she would say something about mental health or whatever and then he could casually slip it in there, instead of bringing up the topic himself and making himself look extra insane.

Ironically enough, the voice didn't have anything to say about that.

On Sunday morning, Ben received a call from the auto shop. They told him that the semester was over, and if he wanted to pursue his education, he would need to call them back.

Ben sat in silence in front of the phone for a goodly amount of time, torn. He wanted so badly to get his degree, graduate, live a normal life.  _Apple pie life,_  the voice said.

But the things that were out there... They were killing people. Amy's brother was gone, and as much as she liked to pretend she was okay about it, he saw the way she avoided mirrors. He would bet anything that her brother looked just like her.

Save himself, or save the others. That was what it boiled down to. Safe and sorry, or hunt.

He'd made his decision and was about to call them back when Amy swanned in. Her hair was tousled and some strands had been clipped short and bleached white. She was disheveled, knees of her jeans torn and bloodied. Her knife was nowhere to be seen, but Ben knew that didn't mean anything. She could've recently murdered someone and the knife would've disappeared just the same.

"Had a good weekend, Benji? Great. So glad." She shovelled a handful of knotted hair out of the way and sighed. "I'm gonna go detangle and crash. Use your room?"

"Sure- But where were you? It's Sunday." Ben gestured out the window with the phone still clenched tight in his hand. The noonday sun shone through the newly installed window. Ben had hidden in his room and pretended to be out while they were replacing it. "You ditched some time before I woke up on Friday."

"About noon Friday, yeah." she said, distracted. Blew another chunk of hair out of her face, and ducked into Ben's bathroom to retrieve her comb. Started tugging it though the rough strands. "Crud. Gonna have to have another shower."

She turned, and Ben caught sight of her eyes for the first time. Glassy, not with tears, but with exhaustion and pain. He reached for her arm, but she twisted away, kept attacking the rats nest of hair. "I'm  _fine_ , Braeden."

"Right." Ben shook his head. "What were you doing?"

Amy gave up, threw the comb down, motions jerky. "Throwing myself a birthday party."

"What?"

She huffed out a sigh. "I'm going to go have a shower. Don't wait up."

And she stalked into the bathroom and turned the shower up full blast, leaving an addled Ben standing in his living room, clutching his phone.

What was she so worked up about? It's just her...

_Oh_.

Ben's heart twisted in his chest. Tate was her  _twin_. They had the same birthday, and this was the first time she'd ever had to spend it without him.

Tate was still out there, hosting a demon, possibly dead. And Amy had made a friend, solved a case, gained a whole new set of powers. Ignored him.

Ben had never had a sibling, never had a father. But when he imagined losing his mother, his heart bottomed out and his stomach lurched. Snatches of dreams came back to him.

_His mother's screams, dark laughter behind it, revelling in terror. The warm trickling of blood against his skin, the sharp coolness of a knife against his throat and his mother's hair tickling his cheek as she laughed, eyes black._

The hairs on the back of his neck, electricity crackling.  _Black eyes. He'd dreamt about demons._ Another flash, and the plastic casing on the phone groaned in his fist.

_Another hospital bed, this one surrounded by beeping machines and his mother covered in tubes and she was_ **_dying_ ** _and Ben was so, so frightened._

The phone cracked, casing crumbling, and Ben dropped it, hands numb. And he remembered the man's voice, the voice in the back of his head and the one that seemed to lend itself well to tips on monsters and pie. Ben remembered him saying  _Sorry I'm so sorry._  And he remembered being so  _angry_.

The sound of the shower shutting off startled him out of his reverie, startling him back into the reality of the phone on the floor, crack spiralling down the side. Some muffled crashes sounded, and Ben winced. There went his toothbrush. And likely his razor too. And possibly the shampoo.

Graceful, Amy may be, but only when she felt like it. Other times, she could run straight into the stairs and tip over in slow-mo, still managing to look startled as she finally hit the floor with her nose and started cursing.

Ben snorted, bent to grab the phone. Ignored the dripping and other muffled clatters as Amy presumably attempted to put everything back where it belonged. It was like living in a china shop with a bull sleeping on the sofa. He dialled quickly, the number practically burned into his subconscious.

"... Auto Shop. How can I help you?"

"Hey," Ben said. "It's Ben."

"I got that," the other voice replied. The owner of the shop, for once. "Signing up for next semester?"

Ben shook his head, forgetting for a second that he couldn't see the motion. Then he laughed, rolled his eyes at himself. "No, actually. Some stuff has come up and... Can I postpone it? Come back and complete my degree later?"

A short silence. "Is this..." the owner said finally, carefully. "About Terry? Is it too much to work here?"

_Terry, bent over the front wheel of the car. Beside him, bolts and a wrench lay in disarray. His neck, a second smile grinning with gore. Terry's blood, once slicked in a barely-visible swath like an artful stroke of paint, was_ **_moving_ ** _. Creeping towards the gap in the paint like a river drawn towards a gully, twisted gravity pulling it in._

Mouth dry, Ben croaked out a "Yeah. Kinda."

"That's fine." The man said. "Take off all the time you need. I'll help you get back into it when..." An embarrassed cough. " _If_  you want to get back into it."

Relief filled Ben, shoulders dropping from around his ears and stomach unknotting itself. He took a deep breath for the first time in a long time. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "I'll come back someday."

"You do that." There was some muffled yelling, and Ben caught the words 'idiot' 'oil' and 'fire'. The man spoke up, sounding much more urgent. "Gotta go. Good luck with the time off." and then the line went dead.

Ben almost laughed.  _There you go. Easy as pie._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. I changed my mind. Back to twice weekly updates because I just can't leave you guys hanging, its just not fair. I enjoy posting this so, so much, with all the cackling as I wait for everyone to react to the newest plot developments. I'll try to keep it at twice weekly for as long as I can. This does increase the chance of an eventual stoppage (remember the chunky writing thing? Well, I'm in a barren chunk). Hope this is okay will all of you! Enjoy Ben's Clues. :)


	31. Pie & Conversation

He then fetched himself a piece of apple pie, acquired via Amy the first day she dragged herself with him to work, and dug in. Sugar crystals crunched between his teeth, tart apple and crunchy crust. He closed his eyes, that last little knot beginning to unwind itself. He was fine. He could hunt and then come back and get his degree. Amy was fine, grumbling to herself and dripping on the floor as she made her way to Ben's room and slammed the door.

The pie was halfway eaten when Amy came out of Ben's room, hair somehow smoothly braided back and out of her face. The white streaks and choppy bits had somehow been woven into the rest of her hair, and they were hardly visible. Ben glanced up, confused. "Thought you were going to sleep?"

Amy's head tipped up, somehow even that small motion seeming a little off. "Fine.  _I_ am... fine." she seemed greatly amused by the word  _I_ , a silly little smile spreading across her face. "I will sleep. Soon."

She walked to the table, somehow stiffer and unknown in her own skin. Ben tried not to look concerned, but he could tell something was off.

She must need more sleep. That was it. God knows Ben acted nuts while sleep deprived.

Amy sat at the other end of the table, pouted. "Where's the candy?"

"Um," Ben said. "You had this ginormous bag like, two days ago. You're telling me it's already gone?"

Amy seemed to think back on it, find a memory. Looked surprised. "Oh! Yes, that. I think I still have a few chocolate bars left."

And with that, Amy bolted to her feet and started pawing through her stuff. Ben shook his head at her, trying to hold back laughter. "You're going to die of sugar coma."

"I've got a sweet tooth. Lea' me alone." And Amy made a  _Eureka!_  sound, and pulled out three chocolate bars. Regarded them with almost worshipfulness. " _Chocolate_."

Ben snorted. "Awesome. But you were saying?"

Amy returned to the table, still subtly off. She kept poking her hair, seemingly befuddled with her own braiding skills. Frankly, so was Ben. He'd never seen her in that complicated a braid before. Perhaps she'd Pinterested it.

Amy ate the first Mars Bar in one bite, chewed, swallowed. Grinned. "Oh hells  _yeah_."

Then suddenly sober, strange. Turned her head. Gave Ben a sardonic smile. "How is Amy? With her brother and everything?"

Ben stared uneasily. "Amy?"

She blinked, once, twice. "I know that I'm Amy, Benny Boy. Haven't you ever heard someone talk about themselves in third person?"

"No," Ben deadpanned. "Not really. Are you sure you want to be having that much sugar? Aren't you trying to sleep? Cause, no offence, but you look like you need it."

She clutched a hand to her chest. "I'm wounded! Mortally wounded!"

"You are a small child."

A shrug. "Brothers." Bittersweet smile. Refocused. "Tell me all about me."

Ben itched his nose with his fork. "Um, well, you get this look, sometimes." He stuffed his mouth with pie, tried not to hide under the table. Amy regarded him carefully, eyes no longer glassy but so, so old. "And you look like you've given up."

"Hmm." she hummed, softly. Again. "Hmm."

Another embarrassed bite of pie. "And as much as you're badass at hunting - I'm not contesting that - you kinda zone out?"

"Hmm." Through a second chocolate bar, Snickers this time.

"I think losing Tate bugs you more than you want to admit, Amy. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Hmm?" She looked up from her contemplation of the third bar, seeming irritated that it was the last. "Oh. Yeah. I'll be fine."

The word  _eventually_  wasn't spoken, but it might as well have been.

They sat in silence for another few moments, each eating their own sorrows and sugar. Amy finished easily before Ben, and stood, still with that stiller, wilder, energy. "I just needed your opinion. Don't try to talk about it again unless I say something, or I'll smite you."

Ben opened his mouth and a piece of pie fell out. Amy gave him a frightening grin before slamming Ben's door. Once again being massively confusing.

Ben sighed. And finished his delicious apple pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to chew on about Amy. She's monopolizing the angst for now, I know. Don't worry, Dean dearest is visiting soon! Soon meaning within about ten or so chapters. I know, I know. 90% of you are reading this for Ben & Dean angst. I'm working on it. Plot has to come first! And plus, the Winchesters aren't the easiest people to find. Garth's working on it. :)


	32. A Phone Call & A Reveal

Garth was an expert at managing to sound innocent over a phone. Even with static crackling in and out of his voice, he still sounded sugar high and ready to tackle hug Ben across the continental US.

"I haven't managed to make contact with,"  _static_. Ben assumed he meant his ridiculous friends. "... but I'm sure somebody out there will have some way to help you, Amy."

Amy yawned, and Ben had to clamp a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter. She looked like a lion - sleepy, with a mane of hair exploding out from the braid around her face. "Gotcha, Garthykinz."

A chuckle. "Glad you're takin' to Ben. Hun'r's shouldn't go alone."

Amy yawned again, and kicked Ben in the shin, most likely just because she could. "Whatever you say, Garth. Just get back to me ASAP."

"Will do. Just make sure to-"  _static_. "-and be careful."

"I will," Ben said. "Got wind of any cases, then?"

Garth smiled at them over the phone, Ben could just tell. "Well, if you ain't busy-  _Balls_!"

"What?"

Garth yelled something unintelligible to someone else, laughed. "Sorry. Anyway, If you're up to it, there's been some demonic omens in a town a couple hundred miles north. I wouldn't normally send a newbie," Ben snorted, "but Amy's got that fancy knife."

Amy twirled said fancy knife, summoning it out of its personal oblivion yet again. Ben ignored it, and Amy's cheeky smile and attempted shin kick, and told Garth that they'd check it out.

He settled the phone back in its cradle, turned to scowl at Amy. The knife was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be seen. "Can you stop kicking me?"

"You snored."

Ben gave her an incredulous look. "I do not!"

"Yes, you do!" she insisted. " _All night._ It took  _forever_ to get to sleep!"

"I'll say," Ben muttered, thinking back to her candy frenzy last night. He was  _sure_ he didn't snore. Okay. Ninety-nine percent sure. Maybe eighty percent sure.

Then Amy smacked her forehead, blinked furiously. "Wow. Did I say snored? I meant screamed. Dude, you had a full-on horror movie scream like, three times. And the rest of the time you kinda... wheezed. Squeaked. Screamed without volume."

Ben wasn't sure how that was easily confused with snoring, but Amy didn't drink coffee and it was the morning, so he dismissed it for the infinitely more concerning revelation. "I scream in my sleep?"

The girl sipping her lemon honey water that she still insisted was 'tea' on the other side of the table dismissed this with a wave of a hand. "Hunters."

He didn't think this was valid. It'd been a little over a week since he'd seen the ghost. Unless...

Ben finally gave in. The clues couldn't stay hidden any longer. Maybe that was why he screamed at night. God knows he had some horrible unremembered nightmares as a preteen.

_Clue._

Ben withdrew the book, scribbled  _Preteen nightmares_ down, not bothering to hide it this time. Amy visibly perked up, her eyebrows lifting and eyelids cracking more than a crack open. "Whazzat?"

"Uh..." Ben scratched his head. "Clue book?"

Her eyes, if possible, went brighter. Not quite glowing electric blue like with the ravens, but as un-supernaturally close as they could get. "Whazzat?" she repeated, with more vigour.

Another uneasy scratch of his head, ruffling his hair slightly - Ben needed a hair cut - and proffered the book. Amy snatched it with glee, flipped it open. Frowned. "Your handwriting  _sucks_. Are you sure you don't want to be a doctor?"

He couldn't bring himself to laugh along with her, and just stood there awkwardly as she peered down at the pages, covered in tri-coloured ink and pencil. She was engrossed, eyebrows flicking down, fingers unconsciously smoothing down the edges of the page.

Her expression remained curiously blank as Ben fidgeted, twitched, shifted. He could feel ants crawling under his skin, nervous nausea roiling in his stomach. He nearly tipped himself over tipping from his toes to his heels, and had to catch himself on the table, feeling a visitor in his own body, ungainly limbs working against him.

Amy flickered her eyes upright, saw him being not dead, and returned to her perusing. Ben coughed awkwardly and made himself some coffee. Again.

 _Caffeinate,_ the voice said, sounding about as groggy as Ben felt, and he couldn't help but laugh.

Amy spared him a smile, a tiny little thing, then the last page crackled, and she looked up, bright grey eyes wide. "Well."

Ben scratched his head with his silver knife, started when he realized it was in his hand. He was turning into Amy with the knives, he was. He'd find it in his hand at the oddest times. Ben couldn't help but wonder what tales it told of his mental state.

Voice again, echoed, faint, angry.  _I'm fine. Totally fine. Stop asking!_

Clearly, Voice-That-Needed-A-Name was about as chronically fine as Ben was.

Amy closed the book with a tad of a pointed  _thump,_ slid it back over the table to him. "I see we've got some deeper problems than demons."

Ben's stomach stopped trying to dump its contents at the look on her face - mildly amused. Not frightened or appalled.

Amy closed her eyes for a second, gathering herself, then flicked one open experimentally, as if she expected Ben to look different through one eyeball as opposed to both. "I'm thinking divine interference."

Ben scoffed, sat. "What, angels? As  _if_."

 _Fluffy winged asshats,_ the voice griped, and Ben had to shake a very disgruntled feeling out of his head while trying to remember when exactly he'd become so convinced that angels were plausible.

Amy had already busted past him, reasoning. "Well, there's the whole if-there's-hell-there's-heaven and the demon angel equal opportunity thing..." and then Amy grinned a Cheshire Cat grin. "And also they sort of manipulated those friends of Garth's into starting apocalypse and also fell. A hunter alert's out on them. I mean, it was." She spun the knife again, not-silver flashing. "Dunno if they're still a problem."

Ben narrowed his eyes at her. "And you didn't mention this before because...?"

Shrug, knife vanished midspin, though Ben prided himself this time, because he caught a flash of it down her long sleeved shirt.  _So that was where it went._

Then Amy stood and did a near back bridge, and no knife fell out, and she shoved her sleeve up and there was no knife, and Ben scowled again.  _Apparently not_.

"You didn't ask," she said from between her legs, face red. Arched her back farther, and sighed as her back cracked. "Ooh, that feels good."

Ben karate chopped her stomach, sending her crashing to the floor in an ungainly pile. The bleached strands of hair looked like comic-book dizzy bursts as she groaned, rolled under the tiny table. "You  _suck_ , Braeden."

"Angels?" he prompted. Sat back with glee as Amy rubbed her head and pouted, eyes still glittering with amusement and not murder. He was safe for now.

A loud raspberry sounded, followed by reluctant information. "Angels are real, and apparently an issue. Only killable by a special weapon, one that pretty much nobody has. I've never seen one. Sketchy info." A sigh. "It's the brothers again. They're at the epicentre of  _everything_ I  _swear_."

Ben had to laugh at that. "I'd want to meet them, if I didn't know that they were either a) imaginary, or b) cursed five ways from Sunday."

"Agreed."

A companionable silence ensued, gentle breathing and occasional raspberries from under the table, coupled with contemplative sighs and half-laughs from the table.

Eventually, Ben hauled his lazy ass up from the table, and out of ankle-grabbing reach. "Gonna start loading the Impala. You don't have to help,  _Amazing Amriel_."

And he fled before Amy could murder him.


	33. A Car Ride & A Burger

It was strange, how the space in the Impala could be simultaneously cavernous and claustrophobic. Amy sulked in the passenger seat, bereft of her 'tea' and wanting to project her misery on Ben as much as possible. Her window was open just a crack, and the wind squealed in like an angry pig, making Ben wince and twitch against the worn leather seat.

It was going to be a long trip.

He cracked his neck one way, made a really quite scary expression, and risked taking his eyes off the empty road to glance at Amy, who was pretending to examine a map. "Could you close your window?"

"What, and suffocate?" she retorted. Poked out her lip, and poked the map. "Can we stop by Lick Skillet, Tennessee? I want a picture of the sign."

" _No_ , Amy. We can't stop in… Lick Skillet, Tennessee. They named a town Lick Skillet?"

Maybe it wasn't so bad having a passenger, after all. Even if she did take that awful Lemon Chiffon touch-up paint stick and draw sigils on the inside of his trunk. It nearly gave him a heart attack, defacing his car like that, but he acquiesced, given the fact they were driving headlong toward demons. A Devil's Trap wouldn't be amiss. Especially if it kept a demon in the suspiciously body-sized trunk. Not that he was  _expecting_  that outcome or anything... but you never knew.

Amy frowned again, squinted in an attempt to read the name of the down from the map she was stubbornly holding upside down. "What about Pie Town, New Mexico? You're obsessed with pie, aren't you?"

"Hey!" Ben said. "I'm not. And  _no_ , small child. New Mexico is nowhere near the demons."

Amy groaned like a buffalo. "You suuuuuuuuuuck."

"You can't read a map."

Ben again took his eyes off the road to roll them at Amy. She didn't like long car drives, apparently. At least, she liked complaining about them. So far, Ben had counted seventeen  _Are we there yet?_  's and nineteen  _I'm bored_  's and twelve suggested alternate destinations.

He knew she wasn't serious about visiting all the other towns, what with her commitment to killing lots of demons and so such, but she sure was committed to the role of five year old. How she was technically two years older than him, Ben didn't know. He'd be relieved when his birthday rolled around in… maybe two weeks.

It was going to be odd, being eighteen. Ben didn't know how he felt about being considered an adult. He could likely be prosecuted for murder and so forth now. Bummer, considering his newfound occupation. He was getting the feeling other crimes, such as grave desecration, for one, would be required in the coming months. Assuming that Ben survived.

The hunter survival rate was about as high as the survival rate of a slug on the rim of a salt barrel. Ben just had to hope his balance held.

Amy rattled the map with vigour. "What about Whynot, Mississipi?  _Why not_?" A cackle.

"Because I say not, that's why not." Ben turned off onto an exit that promised burgers and rest rooms. His butt was beginning to go numb and he had to pee. Also, he wanted pie.

Amy caught his eyes in the rearview mirror, grinned wickedly. "There won't be pie at the rest stop."

Was one of her new powers reading minds, or was Ben just that obvious? "Shut up."

The Impala turned back into a cavern, with Amy taking a break from her brattiness to stare out the window at the flickering new grass. Being early May, the brightest of greens was popping up through last years detritus. It almost looked like a painting, Ben thought as he accidentally-on-purpose took a corner at high speeds and saw the grass blur into an arch.

He could see signs up ahead, all enticingly reading BURGERS and also GAS which he hoped was more about liquid explosive dinosaurs instead of the end result of burgers.

After another torturous minute, Ben found the promised land, and parked in the dirt parking lot. The gas was, indeed, liquid explosive dinosaurs, and he filled his tank accordingly. Amy provided a credit card to pay for it, one under the more than mildly suspicious name of Cheryl Denver.

Last he checked, neither Amy nor himself was name Cheryl Denver. Fortunately, the 99% asleep cashier didn't seem to care, swiping it in with only a singular wave from Amy signalling  _It's okay, thats my friend._

Also fortunately, the dude who cooked the burgers was far more awake, and provided Ben with a cheeseburger fit for a king - crunchy fresh lettuce, juicy beef, and actual cheese. Amy opted for the simpler option, a plain burger. Completely plain.

Ben thought it was a criminal waste, but Amy would probably think his current state of non-pain was also a criminal waste if he mentioned it. Again, he kept his mouth shut (besides burger eating) and pondered the notion that Amy had actually managed to train him.

They sat at the front of the tiny restaurant, teetering on rickety stools while clinging to the slick wooden counter, shining with the polish of thousands of hands and cloths. AC/DC played in the background, and the familiar music tickled something in Ben's head as he chowed down. He hadn't really listened to AC/DC for years, he realized.

Another criminal waste. AC/DC rocked.

Ben paid in cash this time, not wanting to slight the brilliant chef of money. His wallet was thin, and the precious bills lost it what little weight it could spare. He eyed it, shook a last quarter out of the bottom. Richie McRich, he was not.

Ben was the first back to the Impala, Amy lingering around back to double check the sigils. Ben took the opportunity to stretch without getting a karate chop to the stomach, and felt his back pop and crack. The sun was starting to set already, and he'd been driving for far too long. A couple hundred miles, Garth had said.

More like the road to hell, long since overgrown. America really wasn't maintaining their highways to the industry standard these days. Either that, or Amy had gone out of her way to find them the worst possible route. He wouldn't put it past her.

Amy slid back into the car with a prolonged sigh. "How much  _longer_?"

Ben consulted his watch and common sense. "Should be able to find a motel before ten. Then we can tackle it in the morning."

She raised a brow. "And by 'morning', you mean…?"

"Noon."

They shared a snort. Noon was a bit of a stretch, if they were to get to the bottom of the demon omen nonsense. Really, demon omens were the suckiest case possible. It was like pointing into a ball pit and saying  _One of them has an ant in it!_

Demons could be anyone. And they could move. Or they could be on vacation. All the hunters knew is that they existed, and they were powerful, and they were there. They'd have to scout out the rest of the information the old-fashioned way. Investigation and bribery and likely some threats as well.

Ben was looking forwards to it. Maybe with a little more prodding, all the clues would fall into place. He wanted to know who was missing more than he'd wanted anything since the day he'd first seen the Impala.

"What about Lonelyville, New York?" Amy asked, jarring Ben out of his slight melancholy. "Can we go there?"

"No, Amy. We can't go to Lonelyville, New York."


	34. A Motel & A Gift

Ben parked the Impala in the motel parking lot, right under the neon sign proclaiming  _Bobby Joe's Motel_. It wasn't reassuring, the way the neon flickered and sputtered and generally spazzed out.

Amy was the first one out, vanishing from the passenger seat without even opening the door, and slamming her hand on the trunk. "Keys!"

"You're the one that teleported!" he said, as he hauled himself out of the car, hobbling on pin-and-needled legs. "You could've waited."

Amy glanced down, started. "Huh. Cool!"

Ben had to laugh at that, tossing his keys to her so she could get at the trunk. She rummaged for a second before flinging Ben's duffle bag at his head and slinging her own over her shoulder. Amy then spent some time squinting at the sigils under the flickering green light. "Should we include some angel sigils too?"

Ben shrugged, yawned. "It's  _ten_  Amy. I've been driving  _forever_. Maybe in the morning."

She hesitated another second before slamming the trunk with undue force. Ben scowled at her for that, before the trooped into the reception room together.

There was a teenager at the desk, literally sleeping standing up. He seemed to be hovering upright by way of the large fan behind him, creating gales of wind that sent Amy's frizzy strands of bleached hair slipping out of her ponytail. It looked like miniature exclamation points.

Ben dinged the bell at the front loudly. The boy didn't even twitch. He tried again. Still no reaction.

Amy, with her usual tact, raised a boot and slammed the heel down into the bell, looking like an angry, leather boot wearing ballerina.

The resulting apocalyptic  _clang_  woke the teen up on a subatomic level, and he leant forward almost imperceptibly, falling, still standing, towards the hard edged stone counter. Ben had to leap forwards to stop him from breaking his nose.

The boy screamed and batted Ben's hands off, sliding the rest of the way to the floor and out of sight. Ben waited, awkwardly, but the boy was up and smiling psychotically almost instantly. "Welcome to Bobby Joe's Motel! We have special misty showers, for a low low price!"

Amy removed her boot from the counter and saccharine smiled. "One double room, please."

The smiling didn't abate on either side, as they seemed to be trying to outdo each other on the fakeness front. The boy was the first to break, cracking the smile to offer them a price, which Amy agreed with and paid for with another card Ben didn't recognize. He caught a name starting with an S, and tugged his hand over his hair, averting his eyes as if that made him less of an accomplice to the fact.

Their room wasn't impressive. Dingy, with sheets that looked like they'd last received a wash some time in the Dark Ages. Ben took one look at them and immediately decided he was going to sleep on the floor. Amy didn't seem to care, throwing herself down on the slightly cleaner sofa with gusto.

The clock on the beside table read something along the lines of 16:89 and Ben realized it was broken, along with the radiator. It was still early in May, and the spring, and the late-night chill was beginning to slip into the room like the slight stench of must.

Ben zipped open his bag, pulled out a... machete? He sent a  _look_  to Amy. "Why do I have a machete in my bag, Amy?"

"Vampires."

_Behead them. Right._

But Ben felt slightly sick at the idea of actually taking the head off something that looked so close to human. He'd killed that demon, he'd killed Exelharberd. But that seemed simpler. Just a stab. Something obviously supernatural happened, and then Ben could walk away, and the world was free of one of more evil thing.

Vampires used to be human. And if they ran into some, Ben'd have to cut their heads off with this handy-dandy machete.

 _Nobody sane would want to be a hun'r._  Voice again. Super helpful.

Ben chucked the machete back into the bag, pulled out the red wool blanket and smiled. He hadn't actually done the packing, besides his clothes. "Thanks, Ames."

A sharp breath. "Don't call me Ames."

He saw her eyes glass over before she turned back to her bag, pulled out another blanket, one he hadn't seen before. A tag still dangled off the corner. His heart gave a painful twang, and he proffered the red blanket, scratchy wool warmth against his arm. "Here. Have this one."

"I'm  _fine_."

"I didn't say anything." The blanket still hovered.

Silence, the kind that pressed down like demon smoke. Then Amy huffed out some of her pain, and took the blanket, fingers white around it. Ben took the beige blanket in exchange, and unfolded it with a quick flip of the wrist. Bundled a plaid shirt as a pillow, his silver knife lying unassumingly under it. The salt went in his jeans pocket, so uncomfortable to sleep in.

Safety over comfort. Likely his new motto.

Ben settled down onto his side, shuffled around until he didn't feel like he was going to break anything if he slept like that. The floor had less germs than the sofa, of that Ben was sure, but that didn't make it any easier to fall asleep. His hand still itched, from where Amy'd sliced him with that not-silver knife. His foot still throbbed, from where he'd stepped on the mystery shattered frame.

Ben was a mess. But finally,  _finally_ , things were starting to make sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben's starting to get used to hunting with Amy. Isn't he adorable? I can't wait until everything starts to go wrong or weird again. Ha.
> 
> Alrighty, news time! Not next week, but the week after that (the week of Monday the 25th) I am going to be massively out of touch. As in: roughly ten kilometres from the nearest power outlet, let alone WiFi. So basically, I'll post the chapter meant for Tuesday of that week on Saturday or Sunday. You won't be missing any chapters, don't worry! The schedule'll just be a bit off, and I won't be responding to reviews to very late Friday at the earliest.
> 
> Hope everyone's still enjoying the story!


	35. Chocolate & A Scare

Amy was already up, sipping from a canteen and eating a snickers bar whilst looking pleased with herself. A dragon's hoard of candy was spread across the tiny table.

Clearly, she'd had one of those "possibly more than weekly" candy urges. Ben held back a laugh as he levered himself upright, wincing as muscles unfroze and pulled and popped. Sleeping on the floor had  _not_  been the most intelligent idea.

"Mornin', sunshine." Amy said, through a mouth of unidentified chocolate bar.

Ben stood ever-so-slowly, wincing. Sunlight streamed in through the window, rendering the unimpressive room somewhat golden looking.

Ben limped to the bathroom with his duffle and got dressed to the sound of Amy chowing down happily. He felt icky, but the shower here would just multiply that by a factor of three.

Ben had once again broken a promise to himself and formed a first impression. A  _bad_  first impression. He couldn't blame himself, really. This motel sucked.

Amy was still eating when Ben came out, looking somewhat more awake. He gave her midsection, clad in her regular plain grey shirt, an incredulous look. "Dude. That's gotta be like, five kazillion calories. How are you not fat?"

"Magic." Another candy bar entered the bottomless pit. "I just  _really_  like candy. Suddenly."

Ben stretched sideways, tried to tug his side muscles back into workable shape. "Well, don't overdose. Last time you did that, you assaulted me with questions about your mental health while I was trying to eat my pie."

Amy stilled. Halfway through unwrapping a Reese's peanut butter cup, her fingers simply stopped working. Her eyes turned first, then her head. The wrapper floated to the floor, the only thing daring to move.

"I did," she said. "What?"

Ben lowered his arms to his sides, suddenly afraid of making sudden moves. He couldn't decide if she looked like she was going to murder someone or cry. "You asked me…" he wracked his brain. Lightbulb. "Yeah, you talked in third person. Was a little weird. Thought it was 'cause you were so tired. Said, 'How's Amy? With her brother and everything?'."

Amy's fingers started shaking, and the chocolate peanut butter cup took a tumble, splattering itself on the floor. "I don't remember that."

Worry gnawed at Ben's stomach, twisting his insides into ropes of fear. "That's okay," he rationalized. "You were walking all weird, too. Out of your mind with lack of sleep and stuff."

Too late, Ben realized he was digging them deeper, and his hand went for his knife.

_Walking strange. Talking about self in third person. Seeming overly amused with the word I._

Amy blurred into movement before he could get the words out, diving for her duffle, and pulling out a silver flask. As Ben watched with a sort of stilted horror, she unscrewed the lid and poured holy water on her hand.

They held their breath, the room stifling, air bearing down horror. But her skin didn't sizzle, didn't steam. She didn't scream. It didn't hurt her.

Amy again was the first to react. "So it's not a demon, then." She stood, candy trampled and forgotten. Wrappers crinkled in the slight pulses of air from the radiator, too warm now, in the sunlit morning. "What else? What else can possess people?"

"A lotta stuff." Ben tried to remember something specific. His voice was being distracting, complaining  _Fluffy winged asshats_  over and  _over_  again. He closed his eyes for a second. "Ghost? Unlikely, though." He threw his hands up. "You're the expert, Amy, not me. I literally started hunting less than two weeks ago."

Her hands were shaking, and she pressed them together. "You got any clues?"

"I can't just summon it up, Amy. All its doing is babbling…" and then he trailed off, feeling stupider than a stump. "Amy, what's the lore on angels? Do they possess people?"

The voice hummed, sounding pleased, and stopped its chanting for that sensation of ruffling hair and being short, loved. It was jarring, and Ben's heart ached, a dull empty sort of feeling that had him heading for a chair because he needed to sit down now.

Amy started moving again, a glacier unfreezing. Withdrew her phone and typed things in. Went white. "Vessels, they're called." A pause, and she slumped back in her chair. "But you have to say yes."

"How do you say yes to a non-corporeal being?" Ben wondered. "If they can't talk, do they just, like, wait around until you say the word 'Yes', and then go all," he flailed, " _Wahey, they invited me in!_?"

That made her smile. "I have no idea." She let her smile grow. "Thanks. I probably just needed,"

"Need."

Glare. " _Need_ , more sleep." she shuddered. "I'm fine. Chocolate?" And Amy slung a Mars Bar at Ben's head.

His reflexes weren't quite up to par, so it ended up hitting him in the eye and practically knocking him off the chair, but Ben recovered and enjoyed his breakfast anyway. Chocolate for breakfast. How very college, even though he wasn't quite there any more.

He wasn't quite anywhere. And Ben couldn't bring himself to care. There were more important things, like figuring out his clues, and Amy's powers, and Amy's brother, and the demons, and also his clues, and did he mention the demons? He was a little nervous about the demons.

At least he had the placemat missiles, for throwing at heads and hopefully blinding the demons. According to Amy, they stuck like glue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! I got the timing for Amy's Demons. It'll be posted between chapter 44 and 45 (we're on 35 right now) and is yeah, about double the length of the usual chapter. It was fascinating to get into Amy's headspace, and I think you'll learn something. For those of you already writing it off, it involves Sam. Sam Winchester. Also Sam's favourite song. You know the one. *cackles*
> 
> Again, I'm just giving you fair warning on changes. Amy's Demons isn't out for weeks and weeks. You won't be getting any non-plot surprises from me!
> 
> And while I'm here, does anyone else agree with the whole confusing angel thing? Only a couple humans can understand screaming angel talk, so how the heck do they communicate with the hosts? Something I think about a lot. Have a fabulous day, everyone!


	36. Interviews & A Voicemail

Ben wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to be passing as anyone of authority, being seventeen, but Amy seemed to be convinced that it was, and he quoted, "Peachy. People are idiots."

He agreed with the sentiment, but didn't quite think that most people, however idiotic, would buy a seventeen year old as a government official. So newspaper reporter, it was.

Amy had taken the bar, claiming that her boobs and legal drinking age would make it easy for her to get information out of the locals. She had then proceeded to swan off, ignoring Ben's protest. They'd meet up around ten, she'd said, and compile the information.

Ben gave the woman standing in front of him his innocent grin, the one that made him look so much younger and hopefully good at keeping secrets. "You said you heard about some strange activity in the abandoned houses," and he gestured vaguely down the street, to the beginning of a series of alleys. "Down there?"

The woman, who looked nothing so much as a feather, poofy hair and clothes and a poker straight spine, squinted her chocolate brown eyes at him. "Why'd you need to know, again?"

Time for the bull. "Because, Ma'am," flattery always sells, "it's of a big importance to the city, seeing it's resources are used properly. There's all this underdeveloped real estate that could be used to much greater potential. The paper thinks that with a bit of gentle prodding, the city may be able to improve itself immensely by righting this grievous issue."

One thing that always made people take you more seriously, Ben had found, was sounding like you ate dictionaries for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, as well as a thesaurus for your midnight snack. If you were  _that_ intelligent, you couldn't possibly be up to nefarious purposes.

God, now he was doing it in his own head. He'd been interviewing for too long.

The woman sighed, gave in to the power of the vernacular. "Some of the people in town... it's just weird. They stopped coming to work, walked out on spouses and children. Jesse said he saw some of them in the window of the largest house, on Sycamore." And she waved a hand down that alley. "It's the third turn off, then left, right, and right again." A smile, faker than Cheez Whiz. "Is that all?"

"That's enough, yes, thank you very much." Ben saluted the woman, and let her move along down the street. He let out a breath, felt the stale air rush out of him along with his newfound vocabulary. He made a face at the brick wall in front of him, tried out as many immature and unattractive ones he could muster up. He could just feel the maturity draining away, and it felt great.

He scrabbled in his pockets for a second, found his phone, dialled Amy. Her voicemail picked up pretty fast, spewing her usual rapid-fire lines at him. "It's Amy-  _shut it!_ No! Not you! Sorry! Okay, I am really-  _I said stay away from that!_ IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING," a high pitched shriek, "Call me back later,  _wait up!_ and I'll call back if I'm not dead  _which isn't likely at the moment but-"_

And a cutoff to a pleasant female "Leave your message after the tone!"

Ben allowed himself to laugh, knowing that Amy was likely fine. She'd recorded that, she told him, while on one of her first hunts with two other rookies. Something to do with a ghost. She'd survived, and got a fantastic voicemail message out of it.

"Hey, Amy," he said. "Finished up. Sounds like the largest house on Sycamore - I've got directions - has got some townspeople gone weird. Heading back to the motel. See you there."

Clicked it off. Settled back into his stride, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. It was still light out, barely, the golden orange sunset making the decrepit building look gilded with precious metals, shining like a castle's treasure room.

His legs moved automatically, faster than he was used to. All the running around and driving and exercises and sparring that this was putting him through was toning him, making Ben feel ridiculously strong. He felt like he could do anything, and it felt awesome.

 _We don't exercise, we_ _exorcize,_  the voice said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amy's voicemail is the best. THE BEST.
> 
> Alrighty! Next chapter is posted tomorrow instead of on Tuesday because of my week off. DOn't get freaked out if I'm gone! I'll be back for next weekend.
> 
> One thing that I just wanted to say, though, is that I plan. I'm not writing as I go (well, sorta). For the big things, like who Amy is and what Amy is and Dean and Sam and Cas and everyone else and the cases and stuff, I've got a broad outline at the very least. I just wanted to point that out! If something's in here, either it's a) stylistic or funny or irrelevant or b) deeply plot related. There is a plot. Promise. :)
> 
> Have a great weekend, and I'll see you tomorrow!


	37. Demon Skillz & A Piece Of Peace

The motel came up fast, Ben barely looking up from his thoughts in time to see the flickering green neon sign hovering above his head in the dusk. He turned in, headed to their room. The door unlocked easily, surprisingly enough, and Ben slipped in. Silent, in case something was lying in wait.

The only thing lying in wait was a house fly, concussing itself against the window with a symphony of percussion and confused buzzing. Ben let it out, cracking the window to let out the bug and let in a quick draft of cool air. He shivered, slammed the window shut.

Ben then occupied the remaining half-hour packing all the weapons into one duffle, the clothes and blankets into another. They'd take both with them, of course. But they did  _not_ need the weight of twelve shirts and seven pairs of jeans while trying to fight... whatever it was they might be fighting.

Ben was betting on demons. Also a concussion. Because really, he was gonna be  _useless._ Amy had the fancy not-silver knife and Ben had a plain old silver knife. Great for being a distraction, and great for irritating said demons, but not much else. He'd just have to hope that Amy was quick enough to skewer anyone that came after him, or hope that he'd be able to trap them or exorcize them before inconveniently dying.

Speaking of, he needed to get on the memorization. He'd got the first couple sentences down, along with (he thought) a pretty good Devil's Trap.

Amy said it sucked. Apparently, the circle needed to be more circular, and the star thing's points more even. How the  _hell_ Ben was supposed to draw a freakin' perfect circle freehand without making a deal with all the devils they were trying to kill, he didn't know.

So Ben settled himself down at the kitchen table and muttered the exorcism to himself thirteen times, and then got out his book and started doodling Devil's Traps over some of the truly illegible pages.

He'd managed to get the squiggly parts down - Enochian, Amy had said - before he caught the powerful rumbling of the Impala outside and Amy herself slumped through the door in a truly despicable mood.

" _Nothing_ ," she said, "I've got absolutely freaking nothing. The only thing that happened at the bar is that this creepy dude checked me out and then tried to  _flirt with me._ "

Ben winced, feeling bad for the poor soul. "What'd you do to him?"

A deeper scowl, somehow. "Asked him what the  _hell_ he thought he was doing, then told him to piss off. Couldn't do much more because he was frigging six foot something and had a buddy  _even taller._ "

"I dislike taller people." Ben said, to great affirmatives from Amy. "Although I suppose that's unfair 'cause I'm not exactly short myself."

Amy didn't seem to agree with that one. Ben stood, offered her the chair. It occurred to him for the first time that Amy was actually a hair shorter than him in socked feet. She was always wearing those boots of hers, the ones with the big heels.

He restrained himself from making a comment.

She plopped herself down and slammed her face to the table with a reverberating  _thunk. "_ You better have something," she said, voice muffled by the wood. "Cause I want to stab something."

Ben sat, leant back against the table leg. "I left you a voicemail."

"Nobody checks voicemail." she said crossly.

"Right," Ben said. "Anyway, I'll tell you in person then." Cheeky smile. "Apparently there's a house on Sycamore - got directions - that houses a couple gone-weird townies."

That seemed to brighten up Amy's day considerably. "Demons?"

"No mentions of black eyes," Ben admitted. "But everything else seemed to point to that. One of the earlier people talked about that rotten egg smell."

Amy peeled her face off the table. "Excellent. Pack up the weapons-"

"Already done."

"Okay, then the rest of our stuff-"

"Done."

She smacked his shoulder. "Oh, stop overachieving. Its just irritating."

"I can always dump all the stuff back out and let you clean it up," he said. "If you're so eager to do something."

That earned him an infamous shin kick, and then Amy popped to her feet, cheery again. "Right! So, I'm going to go finish my book-"

"Bag on the left."

"-and then when it's pitch out, we'll go check out the house."

"Car?"

"Car."

Ben closed his eyes as Amy rummaged for her book, exclaimed and cackled when she found it. He still couldn't give it a try - the title included the work "Raven", which was going to be a steer-clear word for the rest of his life. He shuddered, clonking his head on the table. Winced.

The room settled into comfortable silence, as Amy read, and Ben tried to sleep. Eyes closed, mind open. Peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, on a completely opposite path from Ben, I am here to inform you that I literally gave myself an adrenaline rush the size of the CN Tower writing some of the upcoming scenes. Writing. I can't wait to see what you think of reading it. Mwahaha.
> 
> And I'm super duper sorry for how short these chapters seem to be. I think they start to get longer as we go along.


	38. Finding The Nerve & Paint Sticks

The Impala rumbled up to the largest house on Sycamore, parked across the street even though the driveway was empty.

Ben didn't know if that meant the demons were out or if it simply meant the demons didn't bother with cars. The more powerful ones could just teleport. It wasn't a pleasant idea.

Amy stayed too still in the passenger seat, only her hand moving as the not-silver blade blurred around it, spinning like a top. He couldn't believe it hadn't gone flying and murdered them yet, at this rate. As it was, Amy looked like she wanted to throw up.

There was a huge difference between dealing with a known quantity - Mr. Moriarty, for instance - and an unknown one. With Ben's neighbour, Amy knew she didn't have to be guilty about the stabbing. The host was already certifiably dead. Not only that, but the host was  _old_. Even with hellspawn fuelling it, it could only go so fast.

And even beyond that, they had known that there was only  _one_. Here, they had nothing.

The townspeople had been justifiably confused. Some said there were dozens missing, others said only ten. It all depended on how far some families were willing to go to disguise the fact that some of them were missing. Of course, there would always be a few coincidental deadbeats, just to screw with the numbers a little more. Ben and Amy could be facing anywhere from five to five dozen demons.

Five, they could take. Maybe. Five dozen? No freaking way.

And judging by the fact it hadn't been much more than a week, these hosts were likely to be alive. If they killed any demons with that fancy knife, they were likely to be killing innocent people as well. Ben didn't like that at  _all_ , but they didn't have a choice.

Amy had blanked her eyes again, repeated her rule.  _You can't save everyone._

Ben was the first to move this time. He creaked his door open, slammed it shut. He had the bag of weapons, to be fair. Also paint. And a rug with a Devil's Trap on it. And a couple placemats as well. He was about as prepared as he could get, given the fact that they were already here and should probably attack before giving the demons too much warning.

"Ready?" he said. Patted his pockets, making sure he had plenty of salt and a knife and also that lemon chiffon touch up paint stick with which to draw Devil's Traps.

He didn't particularly want to use it for two reasons. One - if he stopped and went to draw something, the demons would likely laugh and then cheerfully murder him. Not to mention that he was crap at drawing them anyway.

Two - the thing had been in Amy's bra. He shuddered again at the thought, giving Amy enough time to clamber out of the car and click her fingers at him irritably. "Ben? Hello? Anyone home?"

"What? Sorry." he coughed awkwardly, ran his hand over his hair again. He  _really_  needed to trim it. Not that that was the priority, at the moment. "What did you say?"

Eye roll, even though he'd seen a real eye roll and knew she usually actually rolled her eyes  _all the way around_  and this little flicker of gaze was painting the first wall of the facade. "I  _said_ , Benny Boy, would you pass me a paint stick? I'd like one too."

Ben happily divested himself of the lemon chiffon paint stick, and they turned in unison to stare at the house, Amy somehow at his side. It was three stories, which was weird in this kind of suburbia. The frames of the windows were painted a sort of white-green, paint chipping and peeling away from the slightly rotting brown wood underneath. The front deck was huge and sprawling and broken, a smiling line of teeth and nubs ready to welcome them to their doom.

Ben was the first to move again, taking that first step off the curb onto the potholed road, and promptly got himself felled like a tree. Amy caught him, set him back up. Her fingers bit into his shoulder, drawn tight. "Don't do them a favour and kill yourself before you even get in there, idiot."

He snorted, tested his ankle. It was fine. So was he. And now they were one step away from the car, which was good. The first step was always the hardest.

The second step followed, steadier than the first. A third, steadier than the one before it. The two made their way across the street, gaining speed and nerve with each hit of shoe and asphalt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was literally getting out of a car and three steps and internal monologue. It's needed, though. Ben really needed to sort out his thoughts. And also - he's nervous. With good reason. He's going up against an unknown number of demons with only one person as backup and one really effective weapon. Not to mention he's psychic and knows that Dean is neaaaaaar. :)
> 
> And yeah! I'm back! With enough mosquito bites to-ARGH! But anyway. Hope you're enjoying the story!


	39. A Trail Of Traps & A Half Memorized Exorcism

The front door was unlocked.

Ben opened it. Amy walked through first, blade somehow away although Ben could've  _sworn_  it had been out and spinning as they were climbing the front steps. Amy and her knife had a very much off-again-on-again relationship, he thought.

Nobody attacked them in the darkened hallway. The floorboards creaked and groaned under their feet, even with Amy tiptoeing and Ben doing his best to stick near the side of the hall, where he'd read somewhere they were least likely to creak.

His heart was in his throat, thrumming a near constant beat that had Ben feel like he was about to blast off. His veins felt like they were fizzing, ready to erupt. Each creak under each foot felt like stepping on a live wire - ramping up the tension until halfway down the hallway Ben felt liable to explode.

Amy lingered by the door, pulling up the prickly carpet to paint a series of Devil's Traps, the size of feet. Hopefully, she'd said, they'd slip and concuss themselves on the walls for us, make our job easier. She kept it up, lines and dots and dashes and scribbles a foot behind Ben. Ben, walking so slow, heart racing.

No other creaking sounded. As far as Ben could see, in the lengthy dark-lit hall, they were alone. Rooms loomed up ahead, a catacomb of halls and doors and hanging silence.

They came to the end of the rug, and Amy painted a much larger Devil's Trap, obvious and unmistakeable against the rickety wood. The stench of paint wafted up and Ben sneezed before he realized what he was doing.

Amy froze in the middle of one of the more complicated squiggles, not even daring to breathe. Ben placed his hand on the duffel, ready to grab for a shotgun of salt (not that his aim was worth crap) or a machete or just his knife.

Still, nothing came at them.

Amy finished faster than light, was standing in front of Ben between blinks, a sound like wet canvas flapping in the wind filling the tiny space. Her knife was in her hand, and she turned her bright steel eyes to Ben's before the door to their left cracked open and someone stepped out.

Ben had time to register the height - six feet at least - and the fact that their eyes were hooded black before Amy was on them, knife deep in their gut. The eyes flicked human brown, dulled. Electricity cracked in reverse, orange lighting up their skeleton, and the demon crumpled to the floor.

They stood for a second, body leaking blood at their feet, catching breath stunned away by the sudden viciousness of the attack. Ben had hardly taken a breath when he felt a rush of air and turned, weaponless, to see a demon collide with a barrier midair with a sickening crunch, and slide down to the floor of the large Devil's Trap. Ben fumbled wildly in the bag and withdrew the shotgun, locking and loading.

" _Ben!_ "

Ben did a swift about-face and blasted the oncoming demon with salt. The recoil just about knocked him over, which was fortunate because Amy took that change to full-body tackle a demon over his bent body, the crackling and screams all that Ben could hear.

He shot off more rounds, going deaf and almost blind to the clamour. Bodies littered the floor like so much garbage.

A demon came at him this time, ignoring the flashing not-silver blade off to the side, Amy porting from place to place to place, laughing and barely breathing, hair flying wild, chestnut and white and long and short and fever-bright eyes, almost glowing blue.

Ben scrambled backwards, trying to grab another gun out of the bag  _no time to reload no time to reload_ and felt a hard handle under his palm. Ben tore it out of the bag, pressed the trigger, realized with a split second of adrenaline so strong it nearly stopped his heart that  _it was pink and blue and plastic and cold and water_ not a gun.

But when the water hit the demon, it  _screamed_  and fell backwards, knocking a petite female demon out of her warpath on Amy and steam and smoke issued from it's skin like it was burning with the inner fire of hell. He hissed, tried to lunge forwards, but ended up doing an ungainly pirouette and face planting the wall. Ben let out a sort of breathless laugh  _the tiny traps_  before it hit him that he could actually be of use as the wallflower he was. There were only three demons left alive in the room, two caught in the small traps and the third circling down the hall with Amy like wolves.

He licked his lips, pumped the pressure up on his super soaker. Choked out a first sound, stomach roiling. Then his brain kicked in. Hard blink. " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus..."_

The demons all turned on him in unison, the last free one turning away from Amy long enough for her to lock it's arms behind its back in a full nelson. Ben felt just that little bit better, knowing they weren't killing them all. " _Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii..."_

The demons trapped started to writhe, and Ben faltered, the next lines vacating his head. Amy shot him a panicked look, and it was then that he realized that she was keeping that demon trapped because her knife was lying on the floor three feet away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Ben, and that is why you practice. You don't just charge in and hope that you've got the lines down pat. You get them so down pat that they're underground.
> 
> ...I may have taken drama and similar things. Experience. You don't rise to the occasion, you sink to the level of your training. (And that line is paraphrased from Lili St. Crow's Strange Angels, by the way. I'm not that good).
> 
> Anyhoozle. Hate to interrupt you in the middle of my writing-fuelled-adrenaline, but that's where this chapter ends. Apologies. Hope you're still enjoying the insanity!


	40. Angel Blue Eyes & Adios, Bitches

He dove for it, felt the too-cold not-silver in his hand that was starting to shake, searched too hard for the next line that had vacated his mind like he was on the English exam again, where he  _knew_ everything was there but he just couldn't quite  _reach_...

"Just  _stab_  him!" Amy shrieked, and it was then that Ben saw purple starting to streak up and down her arm, bruises from blocking blow after blow. He darted forward, but was too late. His blade barely caught the demon in the side before the demon turned and plunged Ben's sliver knife that he didn't realize he'd been missing into Amy's side.

It was too small, the noise she made, a tiny  _Oh_ , and then she sank to the floor like all the other bodies dying and dead in the room. Ben whirled, sudden rage spurring him on, and took the demon between the ribs, ignoring the crunching and wetness slicking through. The lines escaped his lips before he realized he was speaking them. "O _mnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolic."_

Ben turned back to Amy, saw her head snap back, eyes flash blue,  _darker than before lighter than before brighter than before_  all at once. Her hand went to her side, drew the knife out without even the slightest gasp of pain, pressed down on the injury.

Blood stopped streaming, and through the tear in her shirt Ben could see only blood-slicked smooth skin. Amy's head snapped forwards, and he could almost  _hear_  her eyes flash blue for that split second again, could feel the power pulsing through the room subside. Footsteps clattered and creaked ahead in the hall, but Ben ignored them in favour of staring at Amy in awe as she stood, movements fluid and painless.

Ben found that the only thing he could say was "How are you not  _dead_?"

Wicked smile. Pat on the side, uninjured. "I don't know." A quick swoop down, a toss of the knife, which Ben caught. "I can't say I'm complaining. This is a fabulous surprise." Beckon. Ben tossed her her knife back, and she settled back into combat stance. "It's just like that time I accidentally punched a ghost in the face."

" _What_?" Ben said, flabbergasted.

Amy laughed, vibrant. "Never mind." The first of the demons came in the door, and Amy hopped nimbly over the body and took him down in a blur of movement that Ben couldn't even hope to track. "Get back on the exorcism!"

Ben wiped his knife off on his shirt, hasty, held the water gun up threateningly. "... _Ergo, draco maledac- maledicte."_

He interrupted himself to douse the next comer with holy water, shouted over them as they screamed in agony, silenced abruptly by the not-silver knife. " _Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire,"_

He had to stop, catch his breath, bodily shove another demon into the Devil's Traps. His arms ached, legs ached, lungs heaved. He'd lost count of how many demons, but there had certainly been more than his optimistic estimate of  _five_. He wiped his hair off his forehead, felt the smear of blood he left behind, felt a single bead of blood drip down into his eye and fall away like a tear. And Ben was pretty sure he was hallucinating, hearing rumbling in the farthest edges of his hearing. It almost sounded like his car, or a car like his car.

Another gasped breath, swallow, heave of air. Ignoring of more footsteps pounding up from a direction unknown. Ben couldn't tell where sounds and images were coming from anymore. All that existed was the demons screaming and the cool water spray against his hands and the blood dripping down like a tear and the  _ache_  of his tired body and Amy's wild hair whipping like the snakes of Medusa and the fact that he needed to finish his exorcism  _right now._

" _Te rogamus, audi nos."_

 _"_ Adios, bitches!" a voice said from behind him, a voice that couldn't quite register as  _real_  because Ben's head was spinning and he realized that he was actually holding his breath. He let it out as the demons let go of their smoke, gouts of black screaming out and down.

The newcomers got the last of the holy water to the face. This seemed to irritate the slightly shorter one more than it should, given that they clearly weren't demons.

Ben fastened onto Amy's face, blood splattered and grey eyes sparkling, but not quite unearthly blue any more. She nodded, and for some reason, scowled.

Ben turned his attention to the men, through eyes that were rapidly going tunnel vision. He just had time to catch sight of bottle-green eyes before he swayed just a little too far to the right and was out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben, the fabulous (debatable) child of Dean, famous for passing out at inopportune moments. What a tender soul.
> 
> And he met Dean. He totally met Dean. I said it was soon, didn't I? I might've forgotten to tell you that he passed out upon meeting him. LOL. I'm such a troller. And sleep deprived, if I actually just said that in real life.
> 
> And oh, Amy dear, you keep getting more complicated. I love you. And your placemat things? And the MINI TRAPS? And actually, y'know, hiding traps under carpets and having MULTIPLE TRAPS? The Winchesters wish they were you. Certainly they'd have less demon problems if they were you. Sigh. I want to be Amy. Except for her tragic backstory. Gak.
> 
> Also, Dean and his irritation for holy water will forever be one of my favourite things. Have a fabulous weekend, people!


	41. He Does That & A Reunion

"...he does that." a voice said, from somewhere above Ben's aching head. "Passes out at inconvenient moments."

He wanted to complain, but he felt weighted down and far too numb. Warm, though. He tried to move his fingers, found that they were wrapped in that red wooly blanket. He tried his eyelids next, trying to peel them open to the soft light he knew was coming from  _somewhere_ , but they stayed stubbornly shut.

A different voice, one he didn't think he'd heard before. "You said he'd be fine? It's been half an hour... Amy?"

A hummed affirmation. "Yeah, he's done it before. I think he holds his breath while he tries to stab stuff. Not the best idea."

A snort, amused and sounding like it was the sort of sound this man made far too often. Ben heard the man shift, huff out another little laugh.. "Yeah."

Ben managed to move now, the weight slowly peeling off him. Again, he cursed himself soundly for passing out immediately after combat. It must  _suck_  for Amy to drag his unconscious ass everywhere, especially after she took the brunt of the fighting.

"See!" Amy said, poked his side. "Hey, Benny boy. Ready to rejoin the world of the living?"

Ben cracked his lids, squinted at the light. Two figures loomed over him. The ever-familar Amy, chestnut hair back in order, and a ridiculously tall man that was regarding him with curiosity. His hair was longer than Amy's, and he looked tired. Kind enough, though, uncannily like some sort of moose.

The man glanced at Amy, eyebrows furrowing together. Creases settled into themselves on his forehead, and Ben realized this was something this man did. Worry. "Benny? His name is Benny?"

"No, its-"

But Ben managed to distract them by sitting up, still cocooned in his blanket. He felt like a half baked caterpillar. "Where am I?"

The giant spoke before Amy, earning him a death glare. "Our hotel room."

Ben squinted. "And you are...?"

He stepped back, frowned. "Right. Sorry." and he offered his massive hand. "Sam. Also a hunter."

Ben extricated his hand shook Sam's hand. Calloused, scarred.  _Was this what his hand was going to feel like, ten years from now?_  "Nice to meet you."

"They're the mystical friends of Garth's," Amy piped up. "What did you say about them? Endowed with a good portion of-"

Ben coughed loudly, to the both of theirs amusement. "Yes, I remember them." And he grinned. "Congrats on still being alive."

Sam laughed uncomfortably, ran his hand down his ridiculous hair. "Yeah, well, it's not all on me. My brother's done most of the work."

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," the other man said, and Ben jumped. The other man was standing in the door of the motel room, looking amused. He was wearing plaid, matching his gargantuan brother. He looked harder than his brother, broken and put back together more times than Ben could count. Something stirred in the back of Ben's mind, memories climbing over each other. "Telling tales already?"

"This is-"

"Dean," Ben blurted out. Eyes swivelled, including...  _Dean's_. Dean. His headache began to throb again, and Ben grabbed his forehead with a groan. "Dean."

He swung his legs off the couch without realizing what he was doing. Stood, still a good half foot shorter than the older man even though suddenly Ben felt like he should be so much shorter.

Sam looked back and forth between them, something stuck in the cogs of his mind. Amy had a funny expression, one like she wanted to do the headache-blaster hand thing again. But Ben felt clearer than he had in what felt like years.

"You shoved me."

Dean finally looked at him.  _Really_  looked at him. Something seemed to crack in his eyes, shatter like a thousand pieces of hope. "Ben?"

Sam let out a quick exhale, a disbelieving sort of sound. Turned to Amy in the corner of Ben's eyes. Whispered a question. Received a confused nod. Acquired the most spectacular bitchface Ben had ever seen.

Clues were spinning in his mind, a thousand little things.

_The car outside, as he fought the demons. That rumble and cough. The way he bought the Impala on sight, like he'd seen it before so many times, like he'd always longed to have one of his own._

The voice.  _Salt. Behead those suckers. We all get into hunting somehow. Don't you_ _ever_ _abandon family._

The things those people said.  _Deacon, was it? Your favourite, the one with the green eyes. Didn't Ben say something about a new dad?_

The feeling right then, of how Ben felt like he was suddenly too tall in his own skin, too old.

Dean moved so slowly, setting his mug of coffee Ben hadn't realized he'd been holding on a little table that shivered under the slight weight like it too was afraid of setting him off. Something came across Dean's face, something like hope and affection and grief all crushed together into a pile of dust and debris. "Ben?"

Ben wasn't sure if either of them had moved, only that there were strong arms around him and Dean still smelled like leather and gunpowder, though he smelled of coffee now instead of whiskey. He was warm, a furnace, and a million tiny things fluttered into place in Ben's head. Mutters before bed, ruffled hair, gruff laughing voice,  _Listen to your mother, Ben._

Sam coughed pointedly, and Amy hacked her way right past  _clue_  all the way to  _obnoxious_  and continued on to  _possible hospitalization_. Ben pulled back, feeling colder, shivered. Dean looked like he was going to cry or possibly throw something or both, but he just took a step back, took a shaky breath.

Sam coughed again, for real this time. Amy hacked out the other lung in camaraderie, grinning at Ben like the maniac she was.

"What happened?" Ben asked, to the room at large. "How did I forget?"

Dean avoided meeting his eyes. Sam turned away, pretended to busy himself with a glass of water. They were terrible at lying, they really were.

Amy _a-hem_ ed. "Ben here's been finding clues about hidden memories for years. Any idea why? Since you seem to  _know him_?"

Dead silence. Even after telling Amy about her sugar-and-sleepless-induced talking earlier, it didn't sound this awful.

It's their fault.

"You know what?" Ben said. Flopped back on the bed. "I'm going to go back to sleep.  _Please_  have some answers for me when I wake up. Like. Next week."

A snort from Amy. A fond sort of noise from Dean. A huff of laughter from Sam. And Ben was out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I Dean okay? I can never tell. I'm so used to not being able to tell in the slightest what Dean is going to do, since I'm never writing him. I'm just watching. But to have to download and recompile all the Dean info...? ACK! I think I did okay? But yeah.
> 
> There you go, guys! A hint of what is to come. Sam and Dean and Ben and Amy. Another couple people you know will make an appearance as the story goes on. I just couldn't leave my muse out of it.


	42. Winchesters & Fail Spy Skills

"...you can't just go in there, Dean!"

Scuffling sounds. Ben cracked a single eyelid open, suddenly, but not unpleasantly, awake. He felt for the first time in a million years he'd actually had a good sleep. His door creaked open, and Ben slammed his eyelid shut. You'd always learn more when they thought you were asleep.

 _They_  in this circumstance being the Winchester brothers. Sam seemed to be indignant about something, and Dean was likely sipping coffee and silently laughing at his brother as Sam executed a patented bitchface.

It was funny, how easily he could picture the two men, given they'd only really met once the day before. Well. He got the impression they'd met before, in that mysterious gappy year. He  _still_  couldn't quite remember it, or Dean. Fragments, yes. Emotions... sorta. Concrete memories? Ha. The concept was almost hilarious.

It was difficult, pretending to be asleep. Already, his lungs demanded more oxygen than the slow, shallow breaths were providing. Ben mentally pictured Yoda.

It didn't help.

Sam again. "Dean, you can't just walk in and wake him up!"

Dean. "It's eleven!" A slurp, presumably from coffee, as Ben could smell it from the bed. Bitter. Like Dean's personality. He crushed a laugh in the making.

Sam. Exasperated. "He's not used to it, and he was up past midnight!"

Dean. Offended. "You never let me sleep that long!"

Sam. Ben could picture the  _bitchface_. "I was  _twelve_."

A scoff, laugh, sip. Dean again, the gruff voice still sounding so strange outside his head. "Sure. Sammy."

Silence. Then the sound of a step. An  _oof_. "Sam!"

It was about then that Ben realized that glares had a sound. He laughed silently, and by some miracle, neither of the brothers noticed he was awake.

More petulant this time. " _Sam_."

"No, Dean. You aren't waking him up."

Sadly, now. "I always used to wake him up. He hates alarms."

"He's not a kid anymore, Dean."

Tension took the place of sound, thick enough that even a pool noodle could cut it. Ben breathed slowly, evenly, the feeling of people watching him crawling over his skin like a blanket of miniature monkeys.

A deep sigh. "I know, Sammy. I know. I just..." He trailed off, and the prickling blanket of monkeys moved off. "He was supposed to be  _out_. We have to call Cas. Maybe he can-"

"No," Sam snapped, and it was the first hint of anger Ben had heard from the gentle giant. "You saw what it did to him. You saw his  _car_ , Dean. And that girl? She says he's found clues everywhere. There's a notebook full. You think he can just forget that?"

Dean, dark, and Ben's shoulders tensed. "I don't like that girl," he growled. "Who is she? Why's she with Ben?"

"I called Garth," Sam said. "She checks out. He called her in when he had a problem with a Bitten back home, needed someone to teach him the ropes. She's pretty green, but she's a got a spotless record on hunts. Apparently started a couple fads, too." A huffed laugh. "Iron rings, so you can punch a ghost in the face, for one. As well as Devil's Traps on placemats."

Sounding only mildly less antagonistic, Dean scoffed. "Sounds great, Sammy. Only one problem: the hell did she get an angel blade?"

Ben could see the not-silver spinning in his mind, the way the sparks lit up, webbing across lines it had made in Amy's skin.  _An angel blade._

_That conversation._

She'd talked. Hadn't remembered it. Acquired the blade in unknown circumstances. Could teleport and... Blast the living bejeezus out of homicidal ravens.

But as far as Ben could tell, she was still  _Amy_. Overly bendy, appalled at the thought of kissing, and drank hot water with honey and lemon and called it 'tea'.

Still... The way she had moved that night, strange and stilted in her own skin...

Ben tried to tune back in to the veritable info dump occurring in his doorway. Did the Winchesters always do this? Talk in full hearing range of other interested parties?

Man, they must suck at being cops. Pretending to be cops.

 _I lie professionally, that's how._  Inner Dean grumbled, in a strange sort of harmony with the real Dean.

"Anyone know her professionally?"

"Garth, Dean, I just told you." A sigh. The sound of a different, more irritated bitchface. "He says she's fine. Great, actually. Best young lady hunter in America."

"Like he'd know."

" _Dean_."

A pause. "Fine. But I am calling Cas and he'd better get his ass back here I don't care what he's doing. We can find Cain another day. This is  _Ben_."

Warning, now. "Dean. He said he was close. You can't just leave the Mark-"

"I don't want to hear it." Dean drained his coffee, set it down with an obvious clatter. "Can I wake up Ben now? Or do you want to wait until sundown?"

Ben took this fantastic opportunity to roll over and groan dramatically. In his opinion, it was a little overkill, but it seemed to work. Sam shut up immediately, and through his now half-opened lids, Ben could see Dean's face reassemble itself into a much friendlier expression. He even managed a genuine smile. "Hey, kiddo."

Ben blinked blearily, clearing the sleep out of his eyes. "Dean?"

Dean stepped closer, patted Ben on the shoulder awkwardly. "Yeah. Uh, I was just coming to wake you up."

"Wha time izzit?"

"Eleven." Dean sounded sort of wistful.

Ben patted his hand weakly. "I'll tozally gerrup soon."

Echoes. He could hear echoes of this conversation.

"Ben." One word. Dozens of memories.

"Fine." Ben rolled over and off the bed, a tried-and-true method of actually forcing himself to wake up. His back killed him, and he mentally cussed like a sailor for  _that_  intelligent move.

Sam snorted from the doorway, and beat a hasty retreat after receiving a double killer glare. Ben finally gave in to the laughter, bubbling up out of his chest as he sat on the floor with blankets tangled around his legs and the clues incarnate standing in front of him also laughing with crinkled eyes and really, Ben couldn't ask for much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, Ben, actually, you could ask for lots more like a sane life and/or normal/present father and alSO NOT HAVING YOUR MIND WIPED BUT SURE.
> 
> Yeah. I don't agree with my characters on everything, ha. And is it just me, or are you REALLY worried about the Winchesters' spy skills? Because man, they suck. They talk about everything in public, so it's only fair that they talk about everything in front of Ben. They don't seem to realize that people can fake sleep. Sigh.
> 
> Only about another week until Amy's Demons! I hope you're all going to have a great weekend.


	43. Chapter 43

The morning, if by 'morning' you meant 'noon' (Dean's eleven had turned quickly towards twelve) was hectic. Sam was getting in everyone's way as he fussed over their bags and Ben was stumbling and scowling, still asleep, Dean was irritatingly fakely upbeat and Amy pretty much sat in the corner and threw candy wrappers at everyone as they passed by.

If she was trying to be irritating, she was certainly achieving her goal.

The group stuffed themselves with protein bars, and in Sam and Dean's case, bananas. Ben just watched Dean with a mildly stunned expression, as Dean scowled with absolute distaste at the fruit.

" _Why_ are you eating that?" Ben couldn't help but ask. "You look like you'd rather eat the motel curtains."

Dean glanced at the motel curtains, grey and dingy and generally disgusting. Almost smiled. He did that a lot. Nearly smiled but couldn't summon up the happiness to get all the way there. "I'm being healthy."

Ben stared at him. "Healthy."

Dean looked away, flexed his right hand a few times. "I'm turning over a new leaf. The twelve step process."

Ben really didn't know what to say, and he was almost glad that Amy decided to bound by, hyper somehow. "Hey, Benny boy! Good Afternoon! Love how you just skipped the entire morning. You missed lots."

He kicked her shin. "Oh, shut it,  _Amazing Am_ -"

"If you get out one more syllable, I'll skewer you."

Ben just grinned at her as she bounced away, loose hair bouncing, streaks of white still bright. Dean stared after her with something between amusement and disapproval, then muttered an unintelligible couple of words and stooped to grab his bag. "Coming?"

Ben hefted his bag with ease, tried to ignore Dean's surprised eyes. "Amy!" he called. "Got everything?"

"You're the forgetful one!"

"Who's the one that forgot the honey, huh?"

A pause. "Fine." Grumpy. "I'll check." Some scuffles, and a muffled groan and zipper sounded. She'd forgotten something.

Ben laughed. Dean shook his head, headed out the door of the motel. Sam was already out there, presumably finishing up the extra warding on Ben's Impala. Apparently, there were sigils to keep out all manners of nasty things that Ben's poor Impala was sorely lacking.

Sam, of course, was using the lemon chiffon paintstick (Ben had been all too happy to hand it over) and had exclaimed in practical delight, muttered something about how much more intelligent this was than spray paint, "Well, at least for the smaller designs. The larger Devil's-"

Dean had told Sam to stop geeking out and go paint on the car already, and Sam had cuffed Ben's shoulder as he walked by. It felt strange, like he was accepted and still an outsider all at once. He wasn't quite there, but Sam seemed to accept him without a second glance.

It was Dean who was having the problem. Problem with Ben hunting, problem with Ben's friends. Problem with Ben, period.

It hurt.

It made Ben feel like his heart was emptying slowly, just when he'd thought he'd found the right things to fill it again. He'd found Dean, assembled his clues, even remembered things that they'd used to do. Barbecues. Wakeups instead of that awful blaring alarm that Ben hates with all his soul. Eggs, eggs for breakfast. Ben liked eggs.

Ben strode out to his car, scrunched up his face at the stench of paint. Sam was still bent over the trunk, slicking lemon chiffon paint in swirls. He was the tallest person Ben had ever seen, even bent over.

"Hey," Ben said. "Almost done?"

Sam straightened, and Ben really would be irritated about unfairly tall he was if he didn't know what sort of luck Sam had. "Should be safe now." And he shut the trunk. Finally looked at Ben. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Ben pretended he didn't know what Sam was talking about. "Want my car protected? Hell yeah. If anything gets near my car..."

Sam couldn't help but let out a laugh at that, forehead smoothing out. His face seemed to shout  _Dean,_ and Ben had to laugh too, seeing Dean all but caress his car in the reflecting green paint.

Sam shook his head, hair tossing, and gave Ben a real, full smile. "It  _is_  a nice car."

Amy appeared out of nowhere, not teleporting, Ben didn't think, but doing her usual ninja walk. "Shotgun!" she crowed.

Ben rolled his eyes at her and Sam laughed to himself and looked back at Dean, apparently busy rearranging guns in the trunk of his ebony Impala.

"Right," Sam said. Patted the side of Ben's car. "Stay right behind us, you don't wanna get lost."

Ben sighed. "Stop worrying. I'm not going to suddenly crash and die."

Sam looked slightly amused, slightly concerned. "Dean drives-"

"Without paying attention to speed limits, yes." Ben finished. Tried to grin. "Hard to forget."

"Sammy!" Dean called. "We going or what?"

Sam gave Ben another worried sort of look before jogging back to his brother. They seemed to argue for a second before climbing into their car. Ben and Amy followed suit.

"Any idea what they meant by bunker?" Amy asked, starting to twist her hair again.

Ben shook his head. "Got the feeling it was their home base. Kansas?"

Amy groaned. "That's going to take  _forever_."

"Do you have anything else to do?"

"Oh, be quiet, Braeden. Don't bring facts into this."

The Winchester's Impala trundled out of the parking lot, and Ben shifted into gear and followed.  _Ready or not, here we come._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I realize that Ben and Dean aren't having their angst fest yet. It will happen, I promise you. But, as usual, it's gonna take forever to get there and it isn't going to happen the way you expected.


	44. A Short Reprieve & The BellPocalypse

It took Ben a while to realize that his reprieve from Dean would only last a couple hours. The cars needed gas, after all, and they were the same model. So they'd need gas at the same time. So the two groups would pull into a gas station at the same time.

Of course, Amy coordinated it with Sam - they were all buddy buddy. It almost irritated Ben. But he couldn't begrudge Amy her curiosity, and Sam seemed to know more about things that went bump in the night than anyone else left alive.

"Sam?" she'd said. "The Impala's-" Pause. "Yeah. Gas. Does Dean-" Muffled Sam. A snort from Amy. " _Yeah_. I'll say. Next exit? Kay."

She'd then turned to Ben, and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, mother." he'd said. "Next exit. Gas."

He tried to ignore the pang. He still hadn't called Lisa, and she was probably worried out of her mind. She always was, when he wasn't in contact. She was convinced he'd die if he was out of her sight.

 _Clue_.

Ben's fingers twitched on the steering wheel, itching for the clue book.

_Dean. The word you're looking for is Dean. The clues are all over, you idiot. You found the solution. Go Ben._

He still didn't feel like it was resolved. There was still a hole in his memory the size of Mount Everest, and that wasn't exactly a feeling he liked. He could feel the edges now, know what pieces had been carefully excised from his life. The wound was starting to heal, emotional memory and automatic responses to things like  _salt_  and  _sulphur_  and  _Impala_  coming back in fits and bursts.

But the pie eating competition? The table in his apartment? Why his mother cried in the shower?

Still mysteries. And Dean was  _not_  being helpful. He seemed overly eager to go and angst with his Hulk of a brother.

Sam wasn't all that bad, Ben thought. He kept shooting Ben apologetic glances whenever Dean pretended he didn't see Ben sitting eating a protein bar and went to complain to Sam instead. He was calmer than Dean too, a sort of inner peace Dean was lacking, and smiled far more often than his older brother. There was something on edge about Dean, when his eyes seemed to flicker dead and he'd grab his right arm.

Ben didn't remember Dean being injured there. But then again, his memory was an epic fail and it'd been  _years_ since he'd known Dean.

Next exit proclaimed TEXT STOPS (which Ben personally thought was America's stupidest invention, even over the deep fried donut bacon cheeseburger) and GAS and CONVENIENCE STORE. Ben followed Dean's Impala off the ramp, jouncing over gravel and dirt and Amy did her fake cussing thing where she basically muttered nonsense and "This  _so-and-so_  of a road."

Ben found it almost funny. Almost, because there was likely some sort of deep-rooted psychological scar behind it and he didn't want to delve into that at the minute. So he let Amy pretend to swear at the road whilst soaking her shirt in the last of her pretend tea.

It was only another couple minutes before the rest stop (and TEXT STOP the glaringly green sign announced) and Ben was glad to slide out of his car. He loved his car, he did, but he couldn't feel his butt anymore and his feet were numb. Oh, and he needed to pee.

Amy promised to pump the gas, so Ben made use of the facilities, bought himself some more protein bars, water, and bananas, and headed back out to the parking lot. It didn't take him long, maybe six minutes including the panicked pins-and-needles hop from foot to foot and quick little stretch outside of the bathroom.

Once Ben could walk again without the whole the-floor-is-knives sensation, he purchased his items and exited the convenience store via the heavily belled door. It sounded like the bell apocalypse, just easing the door open as slow as he could.

Ben was all for remembering and experiencing unique things, but the whole hunter thing was ridiculous. He didn't need the BellPocalypse on top of that. His head hurt.

The parking lot was not as it should be. It  _should_  have contained two '67 Impalas, one apple green and one glossy black. It  _should_  have contained one nineteen-year-old mildly hyper girl with fake tea on her shirt and two overly angsty and tall men.

It contained one Impala, green, and one overly tall and angsty man. This particular tall and angsty man was not reminiscent of Rapunzel.

Simply put, it was Dean.

"Hey, kiddo." he said gruffly. He didn't seem entirely at ease or amused by the situation, but his shoulders weren't up around his ears like Ben's were.

"Where's Amy?" Ben said. Hastily added, "And Sam?"

"They took Baby, they'll meet us at the bunker." Dean rubbed his chin, something that made Ben twitchy with almost-remembering.

Ben took another sidestep closer to his car. "The mysterious bunker. Yep. Great." He ran a hand over his hair, slapped his hand down to his side when he realized he was doing  _his_  nervous gesture now. "Awesome."

Another sidestep closer to the car. Dean didn't seem to notice. Ben took a third step, nearly within arms length of the driver's side door.

"So..." Ben said. Ducked past Dean, and yanked open the door and slid in in one smooth movement. "Which way do we go?"

By the look on Dean's face, he'd been expecting to drive. Surprisingly enough, though, he didn't say anything, climbing into the passenger seat.

It was, indeed, large enough to fit a giant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, readers! Don't forget, next update isn't actually in Ben's Clues. It's on the same date, but it's a separate story titled Amy's Demons. You don't have to read it, but it'll give you some plot advancements, some Sam Winchester, some insight into Amy, some time in the original Impala. Plus, it's double the length of a normal chapter. Head on over to my profile and check it out on Tuesday! It's set right about now in the story, don't worry. 
> 
> And for those of you writing it off, need I remind you? Sam's favourite song. :D


	45. Homes & Death Threats

For the first twenty minutes of the trip, the radio did all the awkward talking. It was a news radio at first, before Dean made the first noise in the car, a rustling of sleeves as he flipped the radio to a far less offensive rock station. There was something in the crook of his arm, some sort of scar, but Dean was quick to pull the sleeve back down before Ben had much more than a glimpse, and Ben really needed to keep his eyes on the road anyway.

The tension grew until it started shoving itself down Ben's throat with each carefully shallow breath and Ben had to blurt it out. "Dean?"

A glance. "Yeah, Ben?"

It was hard to get out, almost like he was thirteen again and trying to get out the word  _shit_. "Let's not pretend we know each other, okay? It's been years, and somethings gone screwy in my memory."

Dean's face closed down, and that's when Ben realized how open it had been before, bottle green eyes bright. Shuttered, now. The next part wasn't planned. "We can start over, yeah? Twenty questions and all."

The first of the shutters lifted. Dean stopped itching absently at his scar. "I can live with that."

A spot of silence.

"What's the bunker?" Ben asked, genuinely curious. "I don't remember anything about it - not that that means crap, but hey."

That surprised a laugh out of Dean, something just one notch up off a snort. "It's in Kansas, centre of the US." And he went on to describe it's huge library, courtesy of the now-extinct Men of Letters. Yet another group that had popped, literally out of the closet, to throw themselves at the Winchesters feet.

Their lives had more plot twists than a soap opera, Ben thought, and he  _knew_ that he couldn't possibly know the half of it.

The thing that struck Ben the most, though, was the way Dean was talking. Animated more than usual, a smile actually gracing his face when he talked of his room and the racks of guns and the  _Memory foam, Ben. It remembers me._

Dean had found a home.

Ben didn't even feel bitter for a second. Sure, Ben wasn't there and neither was Lisa and Dean was having issues up the wazoo, but he was genuinely happy to have a home. It almost... it almost sounded like he hadn't had one before.

 _That_ made Ben a little irritated. Hadn't him and his mother made Dean at home? He remembered that much, at least.

As Ben watched the road fly by, searching the empty asphalt for signs of Dean's Impala, he found himself grinning. This felt whole, like that piece always missing was filled in. And hopefully, unlike that positively  _lovely_ children's book, finding his missing piece wouldn't send him screaming down the nearest hill to certain doom.

Ha. If he hung around Dean, the next thing you know he'd be trying to wrangle the new king of hell back into the basement. How the Winchesters had gotten away with that, he really didn't know. Dean had seemed entirely too pleased with describing just how effective the chains in the basement were.

Then all of sudden it was Dean's turn, and Dean was... not exactly fidgeting, but uncomfortable again. "How's Lisa?"

"Religious."

Dean nearly choked. "Religious?  _Religious_?"

Ben cut him a sideways glance. "Um... yeah. Ever since the accident..." and he trailed off, Dean's voice playing.  _I'm so sorry_. "Hang on. Did you-?"

" _Cas_." Dean said to the roof of the Impala, completely ignoring Ben. "I swear to god that if you made Lisa religious I will kick your ass to heaven and back."

"Uh, Dean?"

" _Cas you better get your butt to the bunker ASAP or I will-_ "

" _Dean_. You're talking to the roof of the car. Who's Cas?"

Dean's face was saying many things, including but not limited to:  _FML. Why. Oh my_ _god._ _Are you fucking kidding me. You_ _have_ _to be fucking kidding me._

Also murder. His face said murder. Lots of it.

Dean's hand gripped tight to his sleeve, over the scar. Ben caught his eyes in the rearview mirror for a split second and there was something darker than night in them, something deader than a corpse.

"It's okay," he tried to reassure Dean. "It's mostly just angel stuff, belief in a higher power. No rosaries or anything. And she likes to go to church and pray. Nothing nuts."

If anything, that seemed to make it worse. Dean's knuckles were white and his jaw was clenched so tight Ben winced in empathy for his teeth. "I am going to fucking kill Cas."

"Who's Cas?" Ben repeated. "Dean?"

A disbelieving shake of the head. "You'll see him at the bunker, once I've had a good  _talk_ with him."

Okay, fine. Off limits topic. There were only five billion of them. Easy.

Ben scrambled for his next question, racking his brain for anything unrelated to his mother or religion or any touchy clues. A lightbulb flicked on. "Hey, did you ever help me build a table?"

The tension eased a little, Dean letting go of the poor mutilated armrest. "Yeah. I worked in construction and you insisted on making something yourself."

Ben snorted. "I sucked at it."

A glimpse of a smile. "Yeah."

Ben pictured the table, wobbling in his apartment. His apartment was empty now. Maybe one day her go back.

Until then, he was going to happily draw on Amy's fake cards to pay the rent.

"What about pie?" Ben asked. "Pie eating competition?"

"Thought it was my turn," but Dean's back wasn't soldier straight any more. "Once. I think you were a little on awe of how much they were eating." A wince. To himself, as if he thought Ben was deaf, he muttered something about fish tacos and being put off eating competitions and pudding.

Ben let it slide, given that any answer would create more questions and his head ached enough already.

The rest of the questions were shorter: favourite pie, a quick discussion on AC/DC, Ben told him about the garage, Dean told him about Oz.

It was only when Dean told Ben the turnoff to the little winding road leading to the bunker that Ben realized he was grinning. Both of them were, although Dean's 'grin' was more along the lines of crinkled eyes and an expression that could be best described as not unhappy.

Ben would take whatever he could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys enjoy Amy's Demons? Do you get where Amy is coming from a little more now? If you don't know what I'm talking about, head on over to my profile and give Amy's Demons a gander! You won't regret it, I promise. Sam and Amy bonding in Baby. It couldn't get more ridonk. Besides this car ride, of course. Winchesters and bonding in cars, I swear.
> 
> Dean and Ben starting to bond. For those of you who think that Ben is forgiving and forgetting too easily, I think you're forgetting that Ben can't remember anything and this is pretty much the sanest route. At least until - if - he gets his memories back. And that is a very iffy if.
> 
> Also... I dropped the F bomb! I know I said I wouldn't but it just... sorta... happened. I'm sorry!


	46. The Apple & Dinner

Ben pulled up at the entrance to the fabled bunker, a set of stairs and a door set into a hill. The door was already open and Amy was lying across the threshold, nose buried deep in a book and hair lit bronze in the sun.

Ben and Dean were out of the car in sync, the doors slamming in the same sound. Amy glanced up, looked very pleased with herself, and got to her feet, still reading. "Welcome to the bunker, Braeden." To Dean: "Sam's inside doing... Something. Possibly food."

Dean grunted somewhat, then headed straight for his car. Ben and Amy watched as he drove it away.

"There must be a garage," Ben said finally. "I'll have to ask. Don't want to leave my car outside."

"Don't want the Apple to rot."

"What?"

Amy grinned like a hyena. "The Apple. Your car. It looks like an apple."

Ben's jaw dropped. "My car is not an  _apple!_ "

This just made Amy look even more gleeful. "Ha! Apple! It's the Apple!"

" _Amy_ you can't just  _name_ my  _car_ -"

"You snooze you lose, Benny boy." And she was gone, calling from the interior of the bunker. "You hadn't named it!"

Ben let out a veritable growl of rage, but it was too late. Amy had already swanned off, laughter echoing up from the depths of the bunker.

An incredulous huff. A couple seconds of death glare, then Ben stalked back to his... He refused to call it 'Apple', but his subconscious had happily latched on to the name. His bags seemed heavier after the drive and the emotional wringer of talking to Dean.

He didn't know what he'd expected. Maybe someone who smiled more. Definitely the leather jacket was missing. Oh, and Dean was nuttier than even Ben was. Yelling at the roof of the  _car._ Last Ben checked, it wasn't a telephone in disguise.

 _Supernatural_ , Dean's voice said, with a mental hint of jazz hands.

Ben snorted.

Ben was inside the bunker before he surfaced from his thoughts, clicking the door shut behind him. It's only when he realized he could hear his footsteps ringing out like the inside of a bell that he looked up.

And gaped. The bunker was  _huge_ , tile accented in red, mahogany tables and rows of books stretched out below. There was a railing in front of him, and Ben realized he was a few steps down stairs. He looked back up, towards the door. There was a hole in the banister near the door that looked suspicious. Not a bullet hole, not quite. An... arrow? He shook his head, something between awe and horror settling over him.

"Ben?" someone called, and it took Ben a second to figure out it was Sam. "That you?"

"No, It's a vampire," he called back. "Rar."

Amy snorted from his left, and Ben jumped sideways, ankle twisting, and he rolled down a good four steps before stopping at someone's legs. Amy hauled him to his feet, still grinning devilishly.

"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry, "Teleporting is fun."

"Not for me." Ben tested his ankle. Sore, like the lump on his head, and the cut on his foot. His hand, at least, was healed. This hunter stuff had far too high an accidental injury rate.

"Yeah, well." Amy said. Shouted over the railing. "It's Ben! Although it sounded like an elephant, I know. He fell. Really graceful, this kid."

"Oh, shut up."

They descended the stairs, Ben limping again and trying to be more graceful while simultaneously pretending he didn't care. Neither really worked, judging by the bounce in Amy's step and the hardly concealed grin on her face.

Sam greeted them at the bottom of the stairs with bowls of pasta. It smelled divine, better than the ramen Ben was used to. He took it gratefully, as did Amy, and they went their separate ways to chow down.

Ben took the time to sit at one of the huge wood tables and just eat and stare. Well, more stare than eat, to be honest with himself. There was so much detail to take in, from the heavy iron lamps to the tiniest scorch mark by one of the pillars to the low-level prickle of magic against the back of his neck.

Sam wandered in once, eating salad, looked at Ben, looked at Ben looking at the scorch mark, blanched, and wandered back off.

Ben wondered how many of the nicks and scratches of this place had awful backstories. And what percent of the awful backstories involved the Winchesters.

His current guess was all of them. And 100%.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, scorch mark! Anyone remember what that is? 
> 
> And yes Ben, you're the more sane one. Because apparently you've checked the roof of your car to see if it was a telephone?


	47. Dishes & A Room

It took a bit of wandering to find the kitchen, but Ben dutifully cleaned his dishes before walking back into the main room and stretching. His back cracked, and there was a headache growing in the back of his skull. There weren't any windows he could see, but Ben's eyes were far too heavy for it to still be day.

He wanted to sleep. But that was a whole new level of suck. What if they didn't have a guest room? He wasn't seeing any couches.

His subconscious sighed at him meaningfully, pointing out the lack of nervous tics in Dean when he had been talking about the bunker. He'd extolled its virtues. Plus, the place was  _huge_. Not to mention the Men of Letters had stationed a massive operation here. They weren't going to have their hoity toity butts sleeping on the floors.

Dean was the one to find Ben. The man was standing by Ben's bags, weight on his right leg. He'd obviously been waiting for at least a couple minutes.

"Sorry," Ben said blearily. Gestured in the general direction of the kitchen. "Washing my plate."

Dean looked surprised. "You didn't have to do that."

"It's the-"  _yawn_  "-polite thing to do."

Dean looked physically pained. His jaw worked slightly, and he glanced away. "You don't have to do that." An almost smile. "At least not for a couple days."

Ben chewed on the edge of his lip, tried to grin back. He was too tired to get into the whole Dean thing again. "Is there anywhere for me to sleep?" he asked, ignoring Dean's attempt at humour.

Dean looked taken aback. " 'Course. Just, uh, come with me."

He started off, leaving Ben to lug his stuff along. He did, barely stifling another yawn. The time had crept up on him rather abruptly, leaving Ben irritated and tired. Not sleepy, as in happy to go to bed. Tired. Pissy and zombified.

He wandered through the bunker halls after Dean, both of them stewing in their own awkward silences.

Ben nearly cussed himself out when he realized he'd spoken out loud. "Why'd you get mad at your friend? Cas?"

Dean stopped in front of a door, leant against the doorframe. He looked bothered and broody, which wasn't all that surprising. It seemed to be his permanent state around Ben. "Lots of reasons."

"Cool. Any reason in particular?" He was already committed. No point in dropping the topic.

Dean shook his head. "Tell you in the morning."

"Avoidance," Ben muttered, and Dean didn't seem to hear. To Dean: "Right." Awkward shuffle sideways. "This my room?"

Dean cracked a half smile. "Yeah, kiddo."

"Don't call me kiddo," Ben grumbled. "I'm practically eighteen."

"Kiddo," Dean said pointedly. "Get some sleep."

"Sure, sure."

Ben slipped into the room, chucked his stuff at the foot of the bed. It wasn't a twin bed like at home, or a cot masquerading as a twin bed like at his apartment. It was a full-out  _bed_ , and it looked awesome. His eyes drooped just looking at it.

Ben changed quickly, put his dirty clothes back in the bag. He didn't feel quite comfortable here, not enough to leave anything lying around.

As much as Dean told Ben that he was welcome, there was still the fact that Ben couldn't remember much about him. There was still the infinitely  _more_  worrying fact that Ben didn't know  _why_  he couldn't remember Dean.

Dean probably knew. He was irritatingly hard to read when it would inconvenience Ben.

Typical of Ben's life, really.

He settled into the bed, Dean's voice in the back of his head cooing about memory foam mattresses. It was quite a change from the motel floors and sofas of the last few days. A  _good_  change.

 _Jinx_.

It took a bit to get comfortable, his different cuts and bruises taking their turns voicing complaints. It had never been easy for Ben to fall asleep, and the new bed wasn't making it easy. He was all-too-aware of who owned this place.

Dean. The hunter that hid in the back of his mind. The clues incarnate.

And a mystery for another day.

The last thing Ben thought as he drifted off is that he didn't want a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna bet what's going to happen tonight? Hmm? Any takers?
> 
> Also, Ben & Dean angst! I realize this is going to be the entire reason you started reading this story. Ben and Dean and the angst that all Winchesters, blood or not, bring to every party. And it doesn't stop here! Just you wait until you get to the next part of Crowley's evil plot. He doesn't leave me alone for a second. 
> 
> I hope you all have a lovely weekend.


	48. Angels & Nightmares

His mother was looming over him again, blink  _black_  blink  _back_  blink. She was holding a knife against his throat, her chest rumbling with laughter behind him. Ben could see himself from outside too, and he saw the knife at his throat ripple into his, feel the emptiness in his pocket.

Ben screamed until his throat was raw and the knife had dug in so deep his front was soaked in warmth.

His mother's voice was gravelled and distorted in his ear. "You didn't call home, baby."

And then Ben felt like he was melting through his own skin, sickly warmth twisting just outside his insides. Everything went black.

* * *

Things were hitting his face. Paper, almost, but the texture was wrong. The air was rushing and rustling around him, the bits crackling against Ben, each other, and something... else.

Amy flickered into view like a ghost, head cocked to the side. Eyes unseeing and glassy. Light was seeping into the scene from somewhere below, sickly red light, making her eyes look lit blood red instead of their supernatural blue. The light rose, and Ben could see what the flying objects were.

Reese's pieces wrappers. Hundreds of them.

_I just_ _really_ _like candy. Don't overdose. Last time you did that, you assaulted me with questions about your mental health while I was trying to eat my pie. The wrapper floated to the floor, the only thing daring to move._

" _I_ ," the Amy-thing said. "I. I. I-I-I."

The wrappers stopped gusting all at once, momentum lost. Drifting down, down, down. Ben took a step back from the Amy-thing, waxed papers rustling against his feet.

The Amy-thing turned its head the other way, unnaturally fast. " _I_  am fine. Fine.  _Finefinefinefine_ -"

Ben turned and  _ran_. The wrappers scuffed and flew and slithered and... oh god, the rustling sounded like raven wings.

Between blinks, Amy-thing was in front of him. " _Finefinefinefinefine!_ " it shrilled. " _Finefinefinefine_ _fine_!"

Talons wrapped around his middle again, crushing his ribs beneath them. Wings pounded, and the ground was falling away beneath Ben's feet.

He screamed. The Amy-thing shrieked " _I-I-I-I-I-I_." beneath him, and the cologne-and-blood breath of the raven stank and Ben swallowed hard, gasping in lungfuls of air through the pain swallowing him whole.

And then his mother was there, hovering in front of him. Eyes plain.

"Ben," she said. "What do you say when you need help?"

" _Help me!_ " he screamed. " _Help!_ "

His mother shook her head, her long hair rippling down and around. "No, Ben. You say,  _Please, angels. Anyone up there. My name is Ben Braeden and I need your help_."

And she was gone, and the claws of the raven ripped right through Ben and he was hurtling down, down, down.

 **Splat**. Landed. He felt sick and not sick because he was sure his stomach was with his legs, still falling above, above.

Amy knelt in front of him, and her eyes flashed that preternatural blue again. Her hand was cool on his forehead, and there was a searing pain in his middle. Like fire only hotter and his legs burned back into being with horrific slowness.

"I heard you," she said. "We always hear you. It's just about finding someone to listen."

"Amy?" he croaked.

A side-on smile. "She's not the only one in here. Haven't you been paying attention?"

Not-Amy stood, stepped back. Winked, and disappeared. The raven screamed in victory, swooped down as Ben scrambled to his feet and ran and  _ran_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, just gonna get this out in the open. It could be Ben's subconscious, or it could be something else. They're equally as likely. Maybe it was both! Ha!
> 
> Yes, I realize this chapter is horribly short. But the thing is, its super duper important and plot packed and honestly it's one of my favourites. I love the symbolism and the bits of memory all cobbled together and the mother and Amy and Ben running and honestly I fall too much in my dreams too. I'm sorry it's short, but I'm not sorry it's weird.


	49. Eggs & Visitors

"Where," Ben said slowly, "is the yolk?"

He poked at the congealed mess of eggs on his plate. Once. Twice. It was all white and disgusting. He looked up at Dean, hoping every ounce of his distaste showed in his eyes. "This is not an egg."

Dean scowled. "It's egg whites!" he protested. "Healthy."

Ben poked the egg whites again. They jiggled.

"Nope." He shoved the plate away. " _Not_ happening."

Dean nudged it back. "You haven't even tried a bite."

"I'm not  _eleven_ , Dean. I can make educated guesses off looks now."

"I'm older. I know better. I say you should eat it."

"That only works if you're five, Dean."

Shrug. Stifled smile. "Works with Sam."

"No, it doesn't!"

"Sure it does, Sammy."

" _Dean_."

Dean sighed. "Fine. Ignore your health. Go eat a salad or something."

Ben narrowed his eyes. "Or I could, you know, make myself some actual eggs. With the, you know,  _entire egg_ in it."

A quick stare down, interrupted by the sound of Amy tripping over something on her way into the kitchen and swearing in a way that would make a third grader proud. "Stupid chair! Stupid,  _stupid_ , chair!"

Dean shook his head at Ben, pretending to disapprove, but he went for the fridge and started Ben some actual eggs. Ben grinned, and proceeded to fling a piece of egg white at Amy's head. It stuck on one of the choppy white bits, nothing so much as a comic book highlight.

"Mature, Benny Boy." Amy scraped the egg out of her hair. Yawned. "You're almost as grown up as a mosquito."

"Like you're one to talk,  _Amazing Am-_ "

Her eyes lit up, dangerously close to superheated blue. "Don't even, Braeden. Don't  _even_."

Ben rolled his eyes at her.

She rolled hers right back.

Amy plopped down at an unoccupied chair, and stared blankly at Dean, humming heavy metal and cracking eggs on the side of the pan with practiced precision. "What's for breakfast?"

"Werewolves." Ben said, flinging another egg white at her. "What do you  _think_ is for breakfast?"

"I hate eggs," she informed him. Kicked him in the shin.

Sam chuckled. Ben glanced over, saw him hastily hide a grin under a fringe of hair. "There's Lucky Charms, if you're interested."

Dean shot Sam an incredulous look. "You're giving up your Lucky Charms?" He grinned at Ben. "You sure your friend isn't a siren?"

"I'm not seven anymore, Dean."

"Right!" Amy said. "Lucky Charms. Love some. Thanks, Sam." A wicked glance at Ben. "Enjoy your fetal chicken fluid, Braeden."

"Oh, shut it, Lucky the Leprechaun."

"We met a leprechaun once," Dean commented. "Sam made it count sugar."

Sam looked confused. "I did? Right.  _That_ year."

Amy shook some cereal into her bowl. " _That_ year? What, one of your years was more catastrophic than the others? That must've been quite the year."

"I'll say." Dean muttered. Sam huffed a laugh.

Ben shook his head at them as Dean delivered a plate of eggs. Amy dug into her Lucky Charms with glee, making chicken dance motions every once in a while. Ben tried to ignore the reality of eggs, instead focusing on the delicious taste. Dean really could make eggs.

Boom.

Everyone's heads jerked up, swivelled to face the door. Dean yanked a phone out of his pocket, and let out a sigh. If he emoted more, Ben could call it relief. "It's Cas. I'll let him in."

Dean jogged out of the room, towards the front door. Ben finished off his eggs, and Sam winced at him as the fork scraped against the plate.

Muffled voices came from the doorway, one distinctly Dean, and the other picking at little bits of memory inside Ben's skull. Edges of conversation drifted down as Ben rinsed his dish in the sink. It didn't sound like a particularly happy conversation.

Footsteps rattled down the stairs, and Dean appeared in the doorway, shadowed by a slightly shorter man in a trench coat. His eyes were so blue almost reminded Ben of Amy's freakout eyes.

"Hello," the man said, voice deeper than Ben had expected. Dean hovered, looking ill at ease.

"Um," Ben said, the man's voice grating at the space where memories were supposed to reside. "Hi?"

"How domestic," a third voice called from behind the two men. Accented, though Ben couldn't quite place how. "Hello boys. Having a pleasant family reunion?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been planning that "WHERE ARE THE YOLKS DEAN" line/scene since that very day I heard about Dean's twelve step process. I am so, so happy I got to share it with you today. Along with the other, probably more notable surprise! Cas! And Mystery Guy! I'm sure it's not much of a mystery to those in the character catchphrase know, but whatever. Allow me my delusions. 
> 
> Also, Amy and her "That year? What, one of your years was more catastrophic than the others? That must've been quite the year." comment is the best. I swear, I put in all of my half-forgotten episode commentary into this fic. 
> 
> And the AMOUNT of TIMES Amy cuts Ben off halfway through saying Amriel? Ha. That would probably cue off the Winchesters to the weird a little earlier than it was going to happen.
> 
> Surprise time! I am a terrible person! I completely forgot I'd be away from Friday-Friday. Whoops. So, here you guys go! This chapter that would've been published Saturday. And in a few minutes, I'll publish the chapter that would've been for next Tuesday. I am SO SORRY to suddenly spring this. Hope Ben and Dean arguing eggs makes up for it!


	50. Chipmunk & Angel(s)

Ben was on his feet before he knew what was happening. Amy was up too, and her hands were flexing in and out of fists. Something glimmered in the back of her eyes he couldn't place, and Ben actually had to take a stumbling step to the side as his dream hit him all over again.

He did that sometimes, the delayed memory thing. He'd wake up, go about his day as usual until something  _hit_ him, a reminder of his inner insanity. Ben would relive his dream in the space of a moment, and come out the other side freaked the hell out.

 _Finefinefinefine,_ shrilled the Amy-thing in the back of his head. He blinked hard, shoved back the pseudo memory.

A man had walked into the doorway, stout and happy in an overly posh black suit. In the same way that the trench coat clad man seemed to ooze a sort of goodness, the shorter man positively bled darkness.

"Boys," the man said. "Chipmunk." a nod to Ben.

Ben couldn't help a snort of incredulity. "Chipmunk?"

Dean motioned for him to be quiet. He didn't  _look_  particularly worried that a strange man had appeared out of nowhere - because Ben had  _not_  heard him come down the stairs or talk or  _anything_  - and inserted himself in the conversation. If anything, he looked exasperated, and he was absently rubbing his right elbow again.

"Crowley, " Trench Coat said, with no small amount of irritation. "What do you require?"

"And last, and most certainly least, angels." Crowley finished, undeterred. He seemed overly pleased at something Ben couldn't quite divine.

Then something seemed to click in everyone's mind at once. Dean was first to voice it. "Angel."

Crowley pretended not to hear him. "Sorry?"

"Angel." Trench Coat replied, and Ben belatedly realized that this must be Cas of the telephonic car roof. So that was who Dean was yelling for in the car. In the loosest sense, Ben supposed he was invoking Castiel, although praying seemed a bit far-fetched.

"You said 'angels'."

An inordinately pleased expression crept across Crowley's face. "I did."

Ben flickered a glance sideways at Amy, saw the hidden depths in her eyes that made him think of that Amy-thing in his dreams.

_It's not real, Ben. Your subconscious was having a good go at scaring you._

But something else surfaced, Not-Amy's look at the end.  _She's not the only one in here. Haven't you been paying attention?_

Amy's eyes flashed with anger, dark and glassed. She fixed Crowley with a glare even Ben would've quailed from. " _Christo._ "

There was an almost-audible  _click_ , and Ben turned to see Crowley's eyes slide to blackred smoke between blinks.

Amy shrieked something unintelligible and brandished her spoon at the demon, drops of milk flying everywhere, and Ben flinched as a drop splattered against his cheek. There was something wild and scared in her eyes, the flickers of something else fled and gone.

She was so scared that the ever-present not-silver knife hadn't made an appearance, and that above everything frightened Ben. Danger - the knife appeared. Boredom - the knife appeared. Startled - the knife appeared. Demons - the knife  _frickin' appeared._

Ben's knife was in his hand before he realized he'd picked it up. It took a good thorough search of his mind to find the split second memory of drawing it, but it was there. He wasn't going Amy quite yet.

"That's a demon," Ben told Dean, in a slightly higher than normal voice.

Sam put a hand on Ben's shoulder, having moved up to him with abnormal grace for such a large man. "It's just Crowley. He's unlikely to kill us, seeing as he wants something."

Ben looked at Dean for confirmation, and Dean sighed. "King of Hell. And yeah, he wants something."

Ben's nerves felt damn near ready to tear themselves out from under his skin. "The king of hell."

"Vote Crowley," the man himself supplied. "A say, a virgin, and all the entrails you can eat."

Sam's hand vacated Ben's shoulder, and through the corner of his eye he saw Sam hold his arm out across Amy, stopping her from charging forwards and skewering the king of hell. Ben felt no small amount of relief, seeing the knife back in action.

Ben pried his fingers from the knife one at a time. Dean kept a side eye on him, and Ben had to refrain from fixing him with his worst glare.

"Wait," Cas said slowly, tilting his head to get a better look at a raging Amy, barely contained behind Sam. His baby blues narrowed, knives slid out of his sleeves. Cas stalked towards Amy, holding the knives in what could only be construed as  _homicidal_. "Who are you?"

Sam stepped up to Cas, trying to press him back. "Hey, hey, buddy. Calm down. What's going on?"

Amy sidled closer to Ben, and he could feel her hands shaking on the handle of her knife. "What's the crazy guy talking about?" she whispered in his ear. "The trench coat one."

Ben had to shake his head.

Cas turned his eyes to the knife Amy was clutching with every ounce of strength, lowered his own slightly. "Who are you?", he said, somehow with more intensity.

"Amy." she said, fear and anger and more quivering in voice. "Amriel. Amriel Grace."

Every aspect of Cas relaxed. "Amriel. I had thought you died years ago."

Amy grazed a look off Ben, eyes wide. "Excuse me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, you thought this chapter was intense? Get prepared for the INTENSITY INTENSIFYING. Disasters and more of Amy's backstory in the near future. Stay tuned.
> 
> I'm going to be away until the update on the 18th. I am so sorry to be leaving, I had completely forgotten I'd be vacationing. I can't wait to be back already, and I hope you guys enjoyed Crowley. And Cas. And this cliffhanger. I'll see you guys!


	51. Trade & Tate

"Boys." Crowley coughed indelicately. "If you're done?"

A sigh, from who, though, Ben couldn't tell. Likely Sam. "What do you want, Crowley?"

"Well," Crowley said, scratching his head. "It's a tad embarrassing. You see-"

Amy hit her head on Ben's shoulder. "Will he get on with it?"

"Shh."

"Get on with it." Cas grumbled.

" _Thank_  you," Amy muttered. "One of you has sense. Even if he's also interested in first degree murder.  _My_  first degree murder."

"Candy Cane," Crowley glared. "Do let your betters speak."

"Go screw yourself, crow crap."

An incredulous laugh jumped out of Ben's throat, and he ended clamping a hand over both his mouth and Amy's. Amy bit his hand.

"I've been busy restocking my angel guns," Crowley said, ignoring the striped haired girl's insult, "and then Juliet goes and eats the last knife that I was  _saving_."

"Juliet?" Ben, confused.

"Hellhound." Sam, quiet.

"Duh. Of course." Ben, to himself. "The perfect name for a  _hellhound_."

"Shh." Amy.

Dean's arms were crossed again. "So you want another knife. Why don't you go ask an angel that can be bought off?"

"That would be inconvenient." Crowley said, and Ben finally placed the accent. Scottish. "Seeing as it's hard to kill them if they decide to backstab. Waste of ammunition. I need it for... other purposes."

"No deal." Dean said, waved Crowley off.

"Dean-" Cas now. His knives were in hand.

"No. You need them."

"I have two, Dean."

The two men glared at each other. If Ben didn't know the context, he would've placed it in the category of Meaningful Glances. For now, he was more worried about imminent homicide.

"I'll give him mine." Amy shifted away from him, holding her knife out in her flat palm. Her fingers were trembling slightly, but she didn't seem to notice. "I don't need it as much as Cas does."

Dead silence.

Ben broke it first. "Amy, that's-"

She kicked his shin, and he stumbled sideways, hip checking a table. "Don't even, Braeden."

"Amriel..." Cas' voice was unsure. "You won't be able to create another for a good long time, if at all."

Amy shrugged. "Gotta do what we gotta do." And she fixed Crowley with a glare so scorching he should've been a heap of embers. "You're prepared to offer something meaningful, or else you wouldn't have come. What was it?"

"Well done, Candy Cane." Crowley didn't look pleased, but he clicked his fingers and two more demons appeared out of the shadows. One was holding a scroll in front of his face, but something about the way he was holding himself seemed familiar. Ben frowned, tried to search for the resemblance.

Amy wasn't looking at the newly appeared minions. "What  _is_  it?" she demanded. "Your great offer. This thing that you knew the Winchesters wouldn't be able to turn down."

"Safety. Complete demon immunity for two people. Well. If they don't actively seek out the demons, that is."

Dean positively guffawed. "For us? Are you kidding me? That would  _never_  work. No deal."

"Not for you two morons," Crowley motioned to the scroll bearer, and he shook it out. Ben squinted, made out two names written in huge calligraphy.

_BEN BRADEN. LISA BRAEDEN._

"You bastard," Dean growled. "He was  _out_. She's  _out_."

A sweeping gesture at Ben, knife in hand and homicidal BFF on his other side. "Does he look out to you? Bold as brass, silver knife, angel for a friend."

"You leave my mother  _alone_."

Crowley looked unruffled. "If you give me the knife. And hurry up, would you? I have things to do, souls to torture."

Ben felt torn in half. He wanted his mother  _safe_ , out of this horrific fight. But he  _couldn't_ ask Amy to give up her knife. She wasn't an angel like Cas seemed to be assuming. She hadn't manifested the knife, she'd  _found_ it. And it was so integral to her personality. He couldnt imagine an Amy without her not-silver knife spinning around her hand as her eyes laughed.

"Fine." And Ben was gaping at Amy as she tossed the knife to Crowley. "Ben won't be sought out by another Mr. Moriarty, and his mother will be left alone."

The king of hell caught the knife easily, tucked it inside his coat. "Glad someone has intelligence." To his minions, "Let's go."

The scroll holder lowered the scroll just as Amy let out a sigh of relief and turned her head, and then everything was happening at once.

It clicked. The demon reminded him of Amy. He had nearly the same face, with a slightly wider nose and larger eyes, muscles set in a slight scowl. His hair was the exact same, and all Ben could think was that Amy would be  _identical_  to him if she shaved all her hair off and found just the right frown.

They lunged for each other, Amy a blur of pink tank top and grey sweats and  _Tate!_ , and the demon a flicker of black eyes and a snarl and  _She was mine, get out you filthy winged ape._

And now Ben could understand why everyone was so frightened of the Winchesters, because there was something dead in Dean's eyes, something steel forged anger in Sam's. They were ripping the twins apart before Ben could even shout, Sam holding a carved knife to the demon's throat and Dean's arm around a screaming Amy's waist. He was surprisingly clinical about the hysterical girl in his arms, and for that Ben was thankful, because he'd seen her revulsion when someone tried to hit on her. The full body shudder when she'd recounted the tale of her first (and last) date.

Then the demons were just  _gone_ , empty space instead of matter, and Sam stumbled to bang his arm on the wall and hiss in pain and Dean let Amy go. She dropped to her knees, still screaming  _Tate!_  at the empty space where her brother had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was certainly a cliffhanger. Crowley, the muse made reality! Tate, the brother I really hope you guys haven't forgotten about. Amy, going a little nuts! Ben, realizing that Sam and Dean are actually scary! So much is going on!
> 
> And next update, we shall learn more, lots more about Amy. And yeah, the last time I said that (Amy's Demons) it just got more confusing, but I swear it's better this time! And anyway, even if it's confusing, you're still learning more about her. The devil you know, right? Anyway.
> 
> I am deeply sorry for my weird absence, and am even more sorry to inform you that I have been roped into more family time deeper into August. I'll keep you guys informed as I learn!
> 
> Also! I HAVE DEFEATED THE PLOT BLOCK and I hope I shall be on my way again with writing. I hope to finish writing Ben's Clues by November, so I'll have time to participate in NaNoWriMo and also to make sure that all the chapters I'm giving you guys are edited and perfect as possible before I give them to you. I mean, I have to write the chapters and then I have to go back and make sure A) They make sense and B) I've mentioned the setting AT ALL. Writing, ack.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys didn't die over the break, and I'm glad to be back! Have an awesome weekend!


	52. Amy's Story & Ben's Mistake

It took Amy a full minute before she took another breath. Another nine before she stopped crooning her twin's name under her breath. A further twenty long moments before she stopped crying. All in all, it took the broken girl an hour to move from her spot on the marble floor.

Ben didn't know what to do. He'd never seen her break like this before. She'd stormed out on her birthday, dyed her hair, sure. She'd sworn at Crowley, a little before she shattered. She shrieked at a raven - but that was more pain than anything else.

Amy hadn't broken then. And right now, she was in pieces.

So he sat there. About six feet away, in the chair. He'd tried patting her shoulder, but she'd stopped breathing again so he backed off. And Ben waited.

"Did I ever tell you about my parents?"

It was abrupt, and somehow her voice wasn't cracked or rasped. Just bland. Ben shook his head.

"They weren't rocket scientists or anything fabulously important to society. Just normal people, really. Sometimes, my father would help my grandfather set up charity drives at the church."

Ben stayed silent. He didn't like the look in her eyes, worse than her birthday when she came home with streaks of white littering the chestnut of her hair.

"I never helped him much. I'd go to the park and stretch and get my butt muddy and come home and pretend I'd done something meaningful."

"You're doing something meaningful now," Ben murmured, the same way he would talk to a wounded animal. "You're saving people, hunting things." and the words fell from his mouth like worn paper, written over and heard over and tired.

Amy didn't seem to hear him. "And my mother loved to bake. She'd always make pumpkin raisin muffins and I  _hated_ raisins. I'd tell her that. And by the time I'd decided to stay back for a victory lap at high school I hated the pumpkin muffins too. Good thing, isn't it? That I tore my kitchen apart before I tore my parents apart. I won't ever have to eat those muffins again."

" _Amy_ ," Ben reached for her arm, tried to reach her somehow but she was moving for the first time and talking over his "that wasn't  _you_ -"

"And I hadn't gone and seen any of Tate's gradings - he was in karate, I think I told you - for three years because I hated the stupid," and she demonstrated it then, over-exaggerated  _pshhh_ _,_  "sound they made every time they moved. I told him that too. Are you supposed to tell your family everything you hate about them?"

"Amy," Ben tried again. "Amy, they knew you didn't hate them. You can't-"

"Oh," she sang. "Oh,  _oh_ , yes. Knew. They knew. Suppose it didn't matter what they knew when I killed them? I used my nails - Mummy always used to nag at me for not cutting them - and used them to rip their intestines out. I got guts all over my father's favourite green fleece. I always planned on stealing that when I went off to college. Guess I won't now, hmm?"

"Oh, Amy." Ben stood, tried to step towards her, but she took five steps back, around the table. For the first time, he wondered where the Winchesters and Cas had gone. They had been here, hadn't they?

Amy had funny almost smile on her face now, teeth bared and eyes glittering with madness and tears. Her hands were turning over themselves, turning, turning. "My mother, oh, I took my time killing her. Hung her by her small intestine. I don't quite remember if she died of blood or oxygen loss. Could be either, really. Did you know the small intestine is about twenty feet long? I know that now."

" _Amy_ ," he breathed. "why didn't you tell me?" He tried, again, to reach for her, but she was gone.

"Mummy always called us her angels. Tatsriel and Amriel. I was her darling angel of May. Daddy always laughed and tugged my hair and called me his angel of mayhem.

"My father wasn't a stupid man. He saw the flicker black eyes and he looked at me and said  _It's not your fault darling_ _,_ but do you think that  _matters_? Do you think that matters at all? It doesn't change the fear in his eyes and his agony and his screams. He could tell me he forgives me all he  _like_ _d_  but that doesn't change the fact that his green fleece was decorated in blood and flesh and the spaghetti we had for dinner. It still smelled like garlic."

"Amy," Ben said desperately. "It wasn't you. It was  _never_  you."

"Oh!" Nearly a scream. "Yes it was, Benny Braeden boy. I've looked up the lore. Your  _Dean's little Sammy?_ He fought off  _Lucifer_. And even before you say 'Oh, but apocalyptic motivation!', his good ol' friend Bobby fought off a demon too. And that was just at the  _threat_ of stabbing! I didn't just stop at threat, I  _ripped_ I  _tore_ I  _murdered_ _._

"Just like that saying, oh? I came, I saw, I conquered." And Ben almost wanted to vomit at the loathing in her eyes, how dry they were now, like she'd cried herself to desert. "I woke, I watched, I killed."

All Ben could feel was angry. Her words were pulling at too many half-remembered stories, too many uncomfortable places in caverns never meant to see the light of day. "Amy, that wasn't  _you_! It wasn't your fault, you didn't kill them. God, Amy, stop. Just stop."

She rounded on him like a snake, fangs bared. Voice nearly an octave lower. "No. Braeden, you  _don't_ get to say that to me."

"Why?" He countered, slamming his hand on the table. "Amy, that's horrible and I get that but you've been sitting here for an  _hour_. More than that. And all you're talking about is you! Everyone becomes a hunter somehow, some will have it even worse."

Time froze. Ben still breathed, still took heaves of air to replace the anger slowly dripping off the words in the air.

"Oh, fuck you, Ben." Amy's entire being rang with finality. "I have listened to you  _whine_ about your problems. I just gave up the thing that  _gives me the most worth in this world_ to protect  _your mother_. I have  _trained_ you, I have picked you up and  _carried_  you when you couldn't stand, I have killed things that wanted you gone." And she shook her head. Once. "I am done. Take care of yourself, Ben, because I'm not doing it for you anymore. See how long you survive."

And that canvas sound withered through the air and Amy wasn't standing there. He heard a surprised shout from the upstairs, a crash, and the faint echo of the flapping again.

And Amy was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I doubt that was what you were expecting when I said 'Amy backstory!'. But it's the truth. You know she was possessed. You know she killed her parents. This is just bloody icing on the cake. 
> 
> Also, Ben is an idiot! Is anyone surprised? No? Yeah. His social skills need work. Poor Amy, having to deal with his sorry butt. It's amazing she lasted this long. Like she said, she did everything for him, and what does he do? Yeah. Tell her to suck it up. *sigh*
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter (another of my favourites. This is telling of my mental state. XD) and I'll see you soon!


	53. An Abandoned Blanket & The Meaning Of Family

In hindsight, Ben realized he might have made a mistake. He mentally replayed what he said, each agonizing second of stupidity after another. He might have been wrong. A little.

He was a massive freaking idiot.

By the time he unfroze himself, pried himself off his glued down pedestal of idiocy, he was too late. The shouting from the kitchen had stopped, and there was only an ominous sort of silence hovering in the air.

Ben ran to the kitchen, saw a wide-eyed Sam standing over a salad, open refrigerator in front of him. With a quick sweep, the only thing he could see missing was... lemon juice.

_Crap._

"Amy!" he called desperately. "I'm an idiot!"

"That would probably be correct." Sam sighed, ate another forkful of salad. His eyes were still wide, though, so Ben spun and exited at top speed.

"Amy!"

He burst out the door of the bunker, and there was nothing to see. Just the door, the grass, and a red wool blanket. Rolling away in the wind.

Sam was behind him, and the giant was already over the fact that a nearly-stranger girl had angel-zapped herself into his kitchen, stolen her lemon juice back, and proceeded to zap herself away again. Ben shuddered, trying to imagine something that could actually startle the man.

"Hey, Ben." Sam said, his forehead all crinkled in what Amy had called  _the Wifi signal of worry_. Ben's heart twinged. "What's going on?" A pause. "Amy uh... teleported in, screamed something unkind about you, grabbed her lemon juice and left."

Ben hit the railing with the flat of his hand, welcoming the sting. "Dammit, Sam, I screwed up."

He closed his eyes, letting the brisk May morning wind whip through his worn grey shirt. Was he going to hate this shirt now, as a relic of his most epic fail?

Sam settled against the railing beside him, and was silent for a second. Ben could feel the warmth spilling from his skin like a furnace, even a few feet away.

It reminded him of Dean.  _Everything_ reminded him of Dean.

"It's easy to screw up with family."

Ben shook his head, angrily shoved some hair aside. "She wasn't family, Sam. Her real family is either possessed or dead, and I just-"

"Family doesn't end with blood, Ben, as a wise man once told me." and Ben could feel him waving off what Ben was about to say. "Hell, Dean's family certainly doesn't end at me. Cas is family too. And... you."

That just made Ben feel worse. "I'm a pretty crappy family member, Sam. I can't even  _remember_ Dean."

An uncomfortable muteness.

Ben opened his eyes, looked at Sam, who was  _pointedly_ looking away. "Sam. Does Dean know why I can't remember him?"

An almost laugh. A finger comb of his mane. "Well..."

"Oh, my god."

"This is something you're going to need to talk to Dean about. And Ben, don't get too angry. He just wants you to be safe."

"Sam. Did Dean have anything to do with wiping my memories?"

"I think this is something you're going to need to talk to Dean about." Sam repeated. Cleared his throat. "What I was saying... Ben, I think Amy considered you family, or at least something close to it. I didn't get much of a chance to talk to her, but she was quite fond of you." Snort. "In a mildly antagonistic sibling sort of way."

Ben shuttered his eyes again. "She has an actual brother, Sam. You know what that's like. I don't. And he's possessed by a demon. What would you do if Dean was possessed by a demon?"

There it was again - a meaningful silence. This one was more of a telling one.

Ben sighed. "Don't tell me. It's happened before."

Sam ran a hand through his rapunzel locks again. "Well, not  _technically_."

"Tell me, Sam, how the  _hell_ you can be 'not technically' possessed by a demon?"

Sam gestured helplessly. "That also falls in the 'ask Dean' category."

Ben's jaw dropped. "Okay. Wow. Have you guys ever thought of publishing your lives? Because... wow."

Sam scowled with vigour.

Ben let out an incredulous sound. "You've got to be kidding me."

Sam blinked, somehow managing to express extreme exasperation. "Prophet of the lord."

Ben leant against the railing, let the wind comb through his hair. "You guys have wild lives, you really do. But stop changing the topic. I'm not her family. And you guys left, but the things I  _said_... Sam I screwed up. Screwed up bad."

"There's nothing you can't fix. Ever."

Ben looked up at Sam, at the weathered lines of his face, and he thought of his first impression,  _Is that what I'll be in ten, twenty years?_ He thought of the easy camaraderie between the brothers,  _Sammy_ 's and rolled eyes and sighs and  _Dean_.  _What had they had to fix?_ he wondered.

He ran through a mental list of all he remembered. Partial demoning. Possession by Lucifer. Something else, maybe, that had Dean living with Ben and Lisa in the first place. A dead father.

He stopped there. Okay. Fine. If you were a Winchester, you could get past anything. Eventually.

But Ben was a Braeden. And Braedens didn't call their mothers for days on end and alienated their only friends - sorry,  _family_  - and had the memory of a goldfish for the people that mattered.

"Sure, Sam. But she's gone. And she literally never checks her voicemail. And she's got like, twelve phones. She can easily ditch the number she gave me and do whatever the hell she wants  _without me_. I'm nobody."

Sam did his confused face. It was a very effective one, as all of Sam's expressions seemed to pride themselves on being. He had yet to see a subpar expression grace the sasquatch's face. "Can't you pray to her? That used to work with Cas before... well, before."

Now it was Ben's turned to look confused, although he was sure his expression wasn't nearly as impressive as Sam's. "Uh, I know it looks like it? But she's not an angel. She's human, with human parents and a human - well, demonic - brother."

Sam tried to reconcile the two sides of his argument. "Right- I know- I talked to her and... ugh. Angel blades, teleportation, Crowley's statement, and her eyes were  _definitely_ supernatural blue." He massaged his forehead. "Right. Well, I'm going to take this clue to go research."

Ben stood, cracked his back, and wanted to shoot himself in the face with rock salt as he jerked back in halfway through the stretch. He was so used to being karate chopped mid stretch, and now...

He caught the older man's arm as Sam was turning to go back inside. "Hey. Um, thanks. For everything."

Sam gave him a genuine smile, and man, Ben was right about his facial expressions. It was almost as bright as Amy's sunlight smile. "Always, Ben." A head tilt. "You gonna come inside?"

Ben bent, wound the red wool blanket around his hand. "In a minute."

Sam smiled at him again. "Dean'll be talking to Cas somewhere. Shouldn't be too hard to find him."

"Thanks, Sam." Ben said gratefully. "Again."

"No problem." And Sam ducked back inside the bunker, leaving Ben alone outside with a cold wind and a red blanket and a whole lot of thinking to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben will always crack me up with how accidentally accurate he is. "What if Dean was a demon?" "You should publish your lives". And see? 1280 word chapter without the note! They're not all short. 
> 
> Also, Ben, FYI, what would actually startle and surprise Sam is Dean being turned into a teenager. He was totally surprised then. Go ahead, psychic up this fact and tease them about it. That would be great.
> 
> And yay! Sam is getting all geared up to research what the heck is going on with Amy. Maybe he'll dig up something that can give you guys a couple more clues! :)


	54. Gunshots & Bedazzled Fine

Dean was harder to find than Sam had made it sound. He wasn't just kicking around with his buddy somewhere, or doing whatever dubiously productive task he kept pretending to do in the library. It wasn't until Ben stopped padding through the cold halls of the bunker for a minute to catch his breath that he realized where Dean was.

Ben could hear gunshots. Measured, even ones. And there was no screaming, no thudding, no other signs of conflict. So Ben assumed there must be a gun range.

He was right. Ben followed the gunshots to the doorway of the rifle range, waited in the doorway. It was loud enough that Ben clamped his hands down over his ears and wished he had... earmuffs? Was that what they were called? All Ben could think of was Mandrakes and pink fluffy earmuffs.

Dean's face was dark, and he was glaring at the tattered target with eyes that were seeing more than just a couple concentric circles. Still, Ben couldn't help but be impressed at the exactitude of the shots - not a single one had strayed from the bullseye.

Ben waited until Dean had set down the gun to say  _Hey_. He wasn't in the mood for a new air vent.

Dean didn't even blink at Ben, and Ben nearly rolled his eyes at himself. It was Dean. Dean was SuperHunter™. He knew everything that was going on in the township, even with noise-muffling headphones, that was it, on while he was angrily murdering a piece of paper.

"Ben." Dean removed the noise blocker thingies.

Ben was reminded of the deal he'd made with Dean, and forced his hands to relax. He didn't have to look for the holes in his memory. He could look at the man in front of him, take him at face value.

The conversation with Sam replayed, too. He was Dean's family, whether he liked it or not. And he got the feeling that once you were a Winchester, you were in it until death.  _Permanent_  death. Normal death wouldn't stop you.

He settled an easy smile into the corner of his mouth, letting the one end tip up in the closest to a real smile he could summon. "Having fun?"

"Practicing." Dean reloaded the gun in a single smooth motion, metal clicking in, out, away. The old ammo went in the pocket of his green canvas jacket. He went to aim again, paused. The gun lowered back down, and Dean turned to Ben again. Then he offered Ben the gun. "You wanna try?"

It was hard for Dean to say, Ben could tell. He could still hear the voice in his head, Dean's.  _He was **out**_. So Ben just grinned for real, a cocky little thing that Ben knew made him look innocent. Or at least, above guilt.

The gun heavier than Ben had expected, almost bowling-ball heavy. He hefted it a second, trying to get used to the bulk. The metal was warm where Dean had been holding it, but the rest of the gun was icy as Ben ran his fingers along the edge. He tried to catalogue each part he knew - safety, trigger, barrel, grip, and... issue? No. Magazine.

Ben curled his fingers around the grip, fidgeted them until they felt about right, and his pointer finger was loosely looped around the trigger. He was  _very_  careful not to point it at anything.

"Good," Dean sounded surprised, and just a little bit pained. "Do you know how to-"

Ben raised it, sighted, and fired.

The resulting bang made Ben flinch back even more than the recoil warranted. Images flickered in the edges of his eyes.

_Black eyes, leering smile, his mother's hair shorter than he'd seen it in years tumbling down from Dean's arms. He was scared, scared, scared._

A rough hand was shaking his shoulder, and Ben became aware of his shoulders being shaken. "Ben!"

He blinked, clearing his eyes of something wet. Tears. His gaze locked on Dean, the bottle green eyes and the masked anger and fear. "What the hell, Ben?"

Ben lowered the gun, not even bothering to check the target. He didn't know why he knew how to shoot a gun. Sure, he watched action movies as much as the next teenager. But in real life? Ha.

_Scared, scared, scared. The roar of a gun, recoil, the dark waves of his mother's hair dancing in front of him as he ran, ran, ran._

"Ben!"

He shook his head out, freeing the edges of the memory, and almost screamed in frustration as the rest of it tumbled back into the abyss. "Sorry. Sorry. Dunno why I did that."

Dean let go of his shoulder, still emanating worry. "Dude, you blanked. Whipped the gun up, shot, and blanked."

He backhanded his eyes awkwardly, not wanting to let the weight of the gun leave his hand. It felt familiar, all of a sudden, and too light. "Sorry. Got another stupid flashback."

Dean's eyes snapped back to Ben. "Flashback?" he said, a little too sharply. "Of what?"

Ben rolled a layer of tension off his shoulders. "The usual. Mom in danger, stuff like that. Well, not quite. This was a new one. I usually dream she's a demon. Stupid, huh?"

But Dean was white knuckled on the edge of the shooting partition. He muttered something that sounded very much like  _sonuvabitch_.

Ben forced his fingers to relinquish their grip on the grip, and set the gun down on the table "Dean, what happened to my mother?"

"Lisa is  _fine_." he said, but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself more than anything.

"If by 'fine', you mean eternally single and crying in the shower," Ben said, "sure. She's just dandy. Of course, but you're using the Winchester scale of fine. By your reckoning, she's bedazzled with rainbows she's so fine."

He'd done it. He'd actually shocked Dean Winchester into silence. So Ben pushed on. "So, Dean. If my mom is fine, what am I? Did whatever you do to my memories put me a little more 'fine' on the Winchester scale? Do I rate a Sam, or am I on the level of the one and only Dean?"

Dean was appalled.

Ben stopped.

"Uh," he said eloquently. "that might've been a little too far. Lemme rephrase:" and he took a deep breath. "Dean, do you know why the  _hell_  I can't remember you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was eventful. And man, am I proud of that 'bedazzled fine' line. 
> 
> Whee for memories! The last time Ben shot a gun that wasn't a water gun, it was the shotgun when Dean was rescuing him and his mother. Flashbacks much? Also, cliffhanger much? I'm almost sorry for this cliffhanger. But then again, I'm not. HERE COMES THE BEN & DEAN ANGST GUYS BUCKLE INNNNN.


	55. Truths & Bullet Holes

Dean waited one second, two. It couldn't have been more than three seconds, but to Ben it felt like more than an hour.

It wasn't a good sign that he checked if Ben was still holding the gun before starting.

"Ben, it's a long story."

"Well, isn't it great?" Ben said, chipper as a chipmunk. Whoops. If Mr. Moriarty had been reporting back to Crowley, he could see where his nickname came from. "I happen to have pretty much eternity."

Dean didn't laugh at that. Ben sighed. "Dean, I've been trying to figure out why I like pie and salt and vampires since I was maybe thirteen. I figure I deserve some answers,"  _careful, don't accuse_ , "if you have any."

Dean let out a long suffering breath, and settled in against the boards. "Fine." Winced at his choice of words. "I met your mom nineteen years ago..."

And Ben listened as Dean wove a crazy tale of a short lived relationship, and the awkwardness of coming back years later to find her with a son.

"I'm not..." Ben grimaced, slid a hand through his hair again. "You're not my dad? Biologically?"

Awkward laugh. "No."

A sigh. "Didn't think so. Just... keep going."

It was fascinating and horrifying at the same time, Ben thought, to hear tales of himself he didn't remember. He listened avidly as Dean described his eight year old self being braver than he could remember himself being. Ever. Staying behind to get the rest of the kidnapped kids out of the cages, being the defacto leader of the changeling traded children. It sounded almost too fantastical to believe.

Almost.

Dean's voice cracked when he described what had happened to Sam - "He went to hell, Ben. He was my brother. And I couldn't save him. Couldn't even  _try_."

The words sounded all-too-familiar, and Ben couldn't help but wonder if Dean had told this tale before, to Lisa, late at night when Ben was supposed to be asleep.

Ben never slept when he should.

_He was my brother. And I can't save him. Can't even try._

The tale wound round tales of salt and moving and Sam and "I met Bobby?" "Lived at his house for a while, yeah."

And again, Ben wished more than anything that he could remember.

And then Dean told him about the last phone call, of Ben panicking and saying that demons were coming for him. Of his childhood self's attempted climb out the window. Of his capture.

Dean's words swirled with the edges of memories, the darkness of the basement and his mother's eyes. Of the sharp coolness of a knife held to his throat, the warm trickling of blood against his skin. His mothers hair tickling his cheek as she laughed, eyes demon black.

New memories too, the memory he'd unearthed with the gun only minutes before.

_Black eyes, leering smile, his mother's hair shorter than he'd seen it in years tumbling down from Dean's arms. He was scared, scared, scared. The roar of a gun, recoil, the dark waves of his mother's hair dancing in front of him as he ran, ran, ran._

"And when we got to the hospital," and Dean's voice almost, almost cracked. "they said they couldn't save her. So I prayed. And Cas came."

Ben flicked his eyes to the door, almost expecting to see the angel pop in at the mention of his name. He didn't.

"Cas healed your mother. And things were screwed up, he had screwed up, so I asked him for one more favour."

Something dark was stirring in Ben's gut. He had a terrible feeling he knew what was coming next.

"So I asked him to wipe your memories. Because as long as you remembered me, you would be a target. They'd take you again, just to use against me. And I  _couldn't_  pull you into it. You had a normal life."

Ben crossed his arms to stop them from shaking. It didn't stop his fingers from trembling. "So it's your fault. You took yourself out of our memories."

That last stupid memory, the very earliest, clearest one. He'd forgotten, really. Maybe because it wasn't covered or blasted to pieces like the rest. The beeping machines and steady mountains and valleys of his mothers heart. Looking up to see Dean, but he didn't know him, even though the look on Dean's face said just the opposite. And Dean said  _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

"Ben-"

"You say family's so important, but what do you call people who care for you?" And the words poured off his tongue, worn in the same way the words about  _saving people, hunting things_  had been earlier. "Who love you even when you're a dick? You know you walked out on your family, right?"

Dean clenched his fist, went to rub the stupid elbow again. "Ben, you've said this before."

 _Well, that's freakin' creepy_. "Well, clearly, you didn't get the point the first time around."

"I did, okay? But it doesn't  _matter_  if they're family if all you're going to do is lose them."

"I'm sure you don't feel that way about Sam."

Even Ben knew that was a low blow. He went to take it back again, but it was already lodged deep in a open wound. "I know," Dean said heavily. "Ben, I know. I'm an idiot."

And just like that, Ben couldn't feel angry. Couldn't blame Dean for protecting who he could. Because Sam was always in it, had always been in it. But he hadn't been. Lisa hadn't. They'd had a way out. Sam didn't, Dean didn't.

" _I'm_  sorry." Ben said tiredly. "I think I said something then, too. Forgiveness, or family, or something. I take it back. You're forgiven."

A blink.

"Just like that." And Ben offered a hand. "Okay?"

And Ben had remembered right, because Dean was warm. Still gunpowder and leather and coffee, though the gunpowder was stronger than usual.

Dean clapped his back, once, and stepped back. His eyes were a little lighter then Ben had ever seen them, and Ben smiled for real, not even the little cocky one. Something real and warm.

"Just..." And Ben made sure he talked fast before Dean assumed the worst. "Is there any way to fix it?"

Dean shrugged. "Hey, man, I'm not the angel."

Ben gave Dean his patented teenager stare.

Dean got out his phone and texted. Presumably Cas.

A minute later, Cas appeared in the doorway. He regarded Ben with his freakishly blue eyes, nodded once to Dean, and went back to studying Ben. Ben shifted uncomfortably.

Dean went to talk with Cas for a second "Privately, okay?", so Ben stood there and fiddled with the gun. With the safety  _on_  thank you very much.

Finally, Cas meandered back over to him. "May I?" He asked, reaching for Ben's forehead. Ben nodded, tried not to flinch back.

The angel's fingers, two pressed to the centre of his head, were cool, and Ben immediately had flashbacks of how cold Amy's hand had been when something strange was happening, like the migraine zap or the rib healing.

Cas drew back with a  _look_  Ben thought was comparable to one of Sam's. "I cannot restore the past memories. My grace..." And he did the Irritated Man thing of looking away. Then back at Ben, brows furrowed. "It is strange. He should not have been able to perceive you, or any evidence of you." He looked at Dean again, looking profoundly puzzled.

Ben frowned. "I've been collecting clues for years!"

"Clues," Cas dismissed. "Nothing concrete. Anything concrete, such as a picture or Dean himself, should send you into unconsciousness. If you had been older when the memories were blocked, not even clues would have slipped through. I wonder..."

And his fingers went back on Ben's forehead, and it was colder then before. Ben fidgeted, tried to move his legs underneath him without dislodging the hand. It earned him an exasperated Dad look from Dean. Ben slitted his eyes back.

Cas tore his hand back as if burned, and Ben hopped back a step. The angel was frowning thunderously. "Something has changed about it. The shield that was meant to have prevented you perceiving evidence was removed. Around two weeks ago, by the feel. That shouldn't be possible."

And he wheeled back to Ben. "Where is Amriel?"

"Yeah," Dean put in. "What happened with your friend? We left the two of you alone to... Sort things out."

Ben did the Irritated Man thing, and looked away.

"Ben?"

"She's gone, okay?" Ben said. "I screwed up. Said some things about her parents I shouldn't have. She up and zapped herself out."

Cas and Dean exchanged a Meaningful Look.

Ben apologized.

Another Meaningful Look.

Then Cas shrugged. "It likely wouldn't have been her. It takes great finesse and knowledge to tamper with memories like that. The Amriel I remember was a soldier."

Ben sighed again. "You might want to go have a talk with Sam. The Amriel you remember isn't actually Amy. She's human. And complicated."

Ben really wasn't surprised when Cas and Dean exchanged a third Meaningful Look. He wished he had a facial dictionary, because there were a lot of things passing between the men that he wanted to know. Their plans about Amy, for instance. He had to hope they didn't include homicide or imprisonment. That would put a dent in his apologies.

Cas puttered out of the room after that, leaving Ben alone with Dean again. Ben took the opportunity to ask the other question he'd been dying to know about.

"How do you technically not get possessed by a demon, but still be possessed by a demon?"

Grab at the arm again. Forced release. "It's a long story." And an eyebrow. "And your aim needs work. Maybe later."

Ben looked up, saw his bullet hole, and laughed.

It was dead centre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, guys. Before you go all AHHHHHhHHhH, I want to give you a little explanation. It seems too easy, doesn't it? That's it, Dean's forgiven. And after Ben spouted his really fabulous accusatory line, too. For the second time. 
> 
> But listen, guys. Ben's just had a crash course on family. He's feeling incredibly guilty for not calling his mother in weeks. He basically got a new sister, reinstalled Dean in his life. And he literally just saw how important family was to Amy, and saw how easily their relationship shattered. Big slap in the face for innocent little child Benny boy. He just got hit by the truck of family, and he wants in, not crushed. So he forgives Dean, because he can see that he was trying to do the right thing. All Dean was ever trying to do was the right thing. Ben really can't (well, he can, but he won't) fault him for that. Because Ben's a kind person. 
> 
> If anyone thinks Dean got off too easy, well, I guess he did. But that's what happens when little Ben just saw how much losing your family hurts via Amy and is feeling guilty about the rest of his family and is a kind old soul. Ben's just that kind of person. And I like him for that.
> 
> Did you notice another tidbit of Amy info? :D


	56. Forgetfulness & Birthdays

Ben woke up, and it was an ordinary morning. For a couple minutes, he stewed in bed and tried to convince himself to get up.

 _Just go to work_ , he told himself. "It's school. Also money. Also..."

He sat up with a start.

His brain quickly recapped - possessed car, Amy, Exelharberd, Dean, no more Amy.

Well, that was an exciting three weeks. Again, Ben cursed his brain's inability to just, y'know, remember things like normal. He was sick and tired of remembering dreams and even  _weeks_ all in the course of a single second.

Ben sighed.

Ben plodded through his morning tasks, spewing toothpaste everywhere as he yawned deeply in the middle of brushing his molars. His outfit was no more impressive than usual - jeans and a tee - but Ben couldnt shake the feeling that there was something different about today.

 _It could be that your BFF is gone_ , his mind said helpfully.  _Or the fact that you're living with your father figure and his brother and his angel._

 _Oh, shut it_ , Ben told his brain.

Ben wandered out to the kitchen to find a couple packages on the table, which he shoved out of the way to make room for his plate of eggs. The scraping of his fork shrilled off the walls, and Ben winced.

He washed his dish in the sink, casting fearful glances at the door as if he expected Dean to bust in and demand to wash Ben's dish himself.

Ben honestly didn't know what was up with Dean. He was a cross between overprotective father (angsty  _He was **out!**_ ) and badass instructor mentor person thing ( _Your aim needs work_ ).

Then there was the whole drama that, admittedly, Ben had started. "Let's start over!" Ben said to himself, sarcasm oozing. "There will be literally zero drama! Perfect solution!"

Someone coughed from behind Ben, and he spun, dish suds spraying. Sam was standing in the door, looking slightly sheepish to find Ben talking to himself. "Uh, hi."

Ben pasted a smile on. "Hey."

Sam gave Ben a funny little smile, then popped his eyes from the table to Ben, then back. "You not gonna open them?"

"Hmm?" Ben glanced at the packages on the table. Something niggled at the back of his mind. "No?"

Sam gave him such a funny look that it'd put a clown to shame. "Ben?"

"Yeah?"

"It's your birthday."

Ben's jaw dropped. Okay, that was impressive, even for Ben. Forgetting his own freakin' birthday? Wow.  _Wow_.

Ben tried to do a Sam and express sentences in a single facial expression. The sentence was  _Oh, that! I knew that! It's always my birthday. Me, Ben Braeden, I remember everything. I totally knew that._

It probably came out more as one word.  _Oops_ _._

Sam covered a grin with a serendipitous jaw scratch. "You don't have to wait for Dean to drop by to open them unless you want to, you know. He won't mind."

Ben saw the out for what it was, and grabbed it thankfully. "Yeah, uh. Waiting. Felt right? When's he coming by?"

Sam consulted his watch. "He should be by in oh... ten minutes, maybe. He's been sleeping more lately." But something was pinched about Sam's face, and Ben could see the cursive script lining the edge of the WiFi Signal Of Worry.  _Dean's sleeping more, but he's not sleeping well_ _._

Ben turned back to the sink, rinsed off his dish. Sam puttered around the kitchen, fixing himself plain greek yogurt (Ben grimaced) and what looked like the healthiest granola Ben had ever seen. Ben had no idea how such a mammoth man survived off rabbit food.

Dean came into the kitchen yawning a little sooner than ten minutes later, interrupting Ben's intent concentration on the packages. One was flat. Magazines maybe? The other Ben had to keep himself from muttering that old adage about breadboxes - it was about the size and shape of the breadbox his apartment's kitchen had boasted when he moved in.

"Ben," he greeted, scratching his newly shaved jaw. It was less ragged than Ben had seen it so far, but it was still stubbly of a sort. Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Bitch," he said, nodding his head at Sam.

Ben started, giving Dean a look, but Sam didn't even look up from the paper. "Jerk."

Ben slid Sam a sideways glance. Sam laughed into his granola.

Dean, with the same expression of a man regarding a hanging post, scooped up the second bowl of granola from the counter and stuck a spoon in it. Ben swallowed a smile.

"So," Dean said, cuffing Sam's shoulder as he walked by, "Eighteen, huh?"

Ben glanced down at himself. He didn't  _feel_ any different. "Apparently."

Dean went to take a bite of his granola, thought better of it, and used the spoon to gesture to the packages. "You gonna open them?"

This time, Ben rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dean. I was waiting."

Dean nearly smiled, but there was something a little wistful about it. "Whatever you say, kiddo."

Ben tugged the slimmer package towards him, and struggled with the perfectly taped edges. "That one's mine." Sam said apologetically. "Sorry."

Ben sighed, and resorted to trying to rip open the paper with his fingernails. His mind flashed back to Amy, how much easier it would've been for her to claw it open. Ben could almost hear her laughing at him and see her half-affectionate half-exasperated smile.

Ben shoved the image back, managing to get a strip of paper loose. He worked the rest of the paper loose, revealing a small stack of car magazines. He grinned at Sam. "Thanks."

It was surprisingly thoughtful, seeing as he barely knew Sam. Even if Ben had remembered it was his birthday, he wouldn't have expected to get anything from Sam. Sam was, at closest, a friend of a friend. Embarrassing conversation about letting down family notwithstanding.

He pulled Dean's present over next ( _the breadbox_ , his mind insisted), and hooked a finger beneath the wrappings. The package was wrapped almost as cleanly as Sam's, but without the impossible seams.

The paper fell off easily, revealing what Ben was  _still_ thinking of as a bread box. He opened it carefully, revealing a handgun. It wasn't the same gun that he'd been using in the range earlier - it lacked the nicks and polish - but it looked to be a similar model.

Dean spoke. "Thought you might want one. Since we tend to take on a lot of cases."

Ben lifted the gun out of the box carefully, turned the nickel-plated metal over in his hands. He looked up at Dean, and again, he could see how much of a concession it was. And he got the feeling that if he was any less proficient with a gun, he wouldn't have the weapon in his hands right now. Something glowed in Ben's chest, achievement, pride, something of the sort.

"Thank you, Dean."

Dean stuck the yogurt in his mouth, and ruffled Ben's hair on his way past to sit next to Sam. "You're welcome." A wicked grin. " _Chipmunk_."

"Oh, don't even." Ben complained. Narrowed his eyes at Dean. Did his best attempt at a Scottish accent, which honestly was horrific, and went " _Squirrel_."

And that's how the birthday moment went. Hidden grins and nicknames and guns.

Ben never wanted to see normal again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to record this moment for posterity, guys. Ben literally just asked for it. "I never want to see normal again". Buddy, the world is going to take you up on that offer. You really jinxed yourself this time.


	57. Freezer Burn & Frenemy Angels

"So get this," Sam said, after the brothers were finished eating. He was holding the paper and looking positively gleeful. "A man froze to death overnight while sitting out on his porch."

Dean didn't spare Sam a glance. "Happens, Sammy."

"It's  _May_ , Dean." Ben reminded him.

"So?"

Sam gave his brother an exasperated look. "In Florida."

Ben nodded. "Sounds suspicious."

Dean sighed. "What, you're ganging up on me now?"

"It's a case, Dean."

Dean still didn't look entirely convinced.

"Freddy Duratus, an outspoken member of the local scientific community, was found on his back porch, frozen to death. Police are still investigating on how this happened - there was a heat warning that day." Sam read. He set down the paper. "Need I go on?'

Ben was the one to speak up. "Outspoken member of the local scientific community? What does that mean? Could he have been experimenting with witchcraft?"

"I freakin' hate witches," Dean muttered. Sam and Ben ignored him.

"Huh," Sam said. "Yeah, gimme a sec."

Dean frowned. Ben tried to imagine where he was going to stick the gun. Sam typed away on his phone.

"Great." Sam sounded serious, all of a sudden. "Freddy Duratus was big in the local scientific community for his frequent papers on how climate change - specifically, global warming - was a scam."

Gone was Dean's disinterest. "Cas!" he called, then turned back to Sam. "Is that...?"

"Sounds like."

"Um?" Ben said, looking back and forth between the brothers. "What's going on?"

As one, the Winchesters realized they had company. Dean left, leaving a slightly frazzled Sam to deliver the information.

"A Trickster?" Ben repeated. "You're saying you have an angel frenemy back from the dead?"

Sam fidgeted. "Look, Ben, we can discuss this in the car. We  _really_ should go as soon as possible. If it really  _is_ Gabriel, there's no telling what he's really up to. If he pretended he was dead for so long, he must be up to something." Sam winced. "Again."

Ben nodded reluctantly, turned to go, then stalled. "Wait."

"Yeah?"

"Which car are we taking?"

Sam laughed the rest of his way out of the room. Ben scowled at his retreating back, and agreed that his car probably wasn't the best choice. He didn't have the arsenal in the trunk or the best sigils the hunting community could offer.

Still. It took Ben to figuring out how to store his new gun in the back of jeans to stop scowling. But there was nothing like the feeling of becoming like the badasses he'd always seen on TV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the conversation we had about short chapters, too. I am so sorry that this is so short! Forgive me!
> 
> At least Sam did the SO GET THIS thing. Next chapter is above average long, I promise. And in the near future, we get some speculation on what exactly - or who exactly - Amy is.


	58. The Inferior Impala & Guesswork

Dean's Impala, Ben decided, was inferior to the Apple-  _his_ Impala. How, he wasn't sure, but his car was definitely better.

It might've also been bitterness at being relegated to the backseat. 

Ben scowled out the window.

Sam rustled papers meaningfully from the front seat, and Ben's scowl deepened. Stupid gigantic man claiming the front seat on height alone. It wasn't like Ben was  _short._ He was a respectable five feet and ten inches, with likely more on the way. Sam just happened to have the sasquatch gene, and there was no way in hell Dean was going to relinquish the wheel of his Baby. 

"So," Sam mused, "I've got a few more things from this town. Mostly normal stuff - this dude's getting praised for raising so much money for wells in Africa or whatever, but there's a few more missing persons articles than I'm comfortable with."

"Goodie." Ben grumbled. Dean shot him a weird look in the mirror. 

"Anyway!" Sam said, quite obviously trying to change the subject. "Did some research on Amri- Amy. Your friend?"

 _Ex-friend_.

Ben stopped sulking. "You know what's going on with her?"

"Well..." Sam tucked his name behind his ear. "There's a couple possibilities."

Lovely. "Like...?"

"Nephilim, for one. Fits the angelic powers and human parents-"

"No," Cas interrupted, and Ben friend to see the man beside him looking self assured. "I killed the last of the nephilim a few years ago."

Dean snorted. "And who told you that was the last of the nephilim? A gigantic dick, that's who. You trust his intel?"

An uncomfortable silence. 

"Right!" Sam said. "And if she's not full-blooded nephilim, she could always be a sort of descendant? Maybe a quarter or eighth or something? That works even better with her parents - she said she looked like both of them?"

Ben swallowed, throat dry. "Yeah, great, except... Wouldn't the power dilute with each generation? Even if she was a full blooded nephilim, she was pulling some pretty big stunts. Teleportation, excessive smiting of huge homicidal ravens."

Sam scowled at himself in the mirror. "I know."

"And," Ben persisted. "Where did she get her angel blade if she was a nephilim?" He turned to the angel sitting next to him. "Do nephilim get angel blades?"

"No."

"Fine," Sam, irritably. "Still-"

Ben shot off the next point. "And what about her brother? That was her  _twin._ You can't tell me they had different parents, they were practically identical."

"The child would take on the vessels traits-"

"Sure, but her brother is  _freaking currently possessed by a demon._ Does that scream  _angelic heritage_ to you?"

Silence. Dean drove by another stop sign. 

With a much more pleasant tone, Ben inquired, "So what were your other theories?"

Sam glanced down at his lap, flipped open another file. "I found some old lore on partial possession - a vessel possessed by an angel so weak or damaged that the vessel retained nearly full control."

"Huh." Ben thought for a second. "Any other info on that one?"

Rustling papers. "Yeah. Apparently the vessels were themselves for the most part, but occasionally they would revert back to the Angels and be able to use the powers again. The vessels would have no memories of this time. The most they'd be able to utilize the angels power would be healing of bruises or something simple and unconscious like that."

Ben let out a long sigh. "Also nope. It's very much Amy using the powers. She doesn't blank out-"  _doesn't she? "-_ she totally uses teleportation for her own amusement."

Sam gave the roof of the car an exasperated look. "Ben, these are theories."

Ben winced apologetically. "Right. Sorry. Do you have another?"

Unsurprisingly, Sam did. "We ran across this one ourselves, actually. Fallen angel of a sort becomes a baby and grows up human." Sam caught Cas' eyes. "What happened to the uh, angelic Amriel?"

Cas shook his head. "She was a soldier from my garrison who died during the siege on hell. She was kind, a good soldier, but even if she survived and managed to be born human, that was only five years ago. She would be a toddler."

"Hell time, man." Dean said, very pointedly avoiding Ben's eyes. "You never know."

Ben opened his mouth, paused. Shut it. Sam raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

His cheeks burned. "Uh, her brother?"

Sam shrugged. "It's possible."

"Her grandfather was a priest," Ben said. "Very sort of churchgoing family. That's why she was named after an angel."

"Oh, this just keeps getting better." Dean mumbled. 

Cas leaned towards Ben, looking intent. "Did she mention her brother's name? I presume Tate was only a nickname, as she called herself Amy."

"Yeah, uh," Ben scratched his head. He'd been trying so hard to forget the whole confrontation. Most likely a bad idea. "Tatri- no. Tatsriel."

Cas settled back, looking bored. "Not the name of any angel I knew."

"What," Sam said. "You knew them all?"

"They were my brothers and sisters," Cas intoned. "I knew them."

More awkward silence. 

Ben had to speak again. "Why would they even be under their actual angel names, though? Did that happen with your fallen angel buddy?"

"Anna," Dean said. It had been a long time since he'd thought about her, Ben could tell. "Anael, right?"

"Yes."

Ben huffed. "So it could be a corrupted version of any angel name? Hers and her brothers?"

Sam squinted down at the file. "That's if she's a full on fallen angel. She could still be a nephilim, descended from a nephilim, partial vessel." An almost laugh. "Or just really,  _really_ weird."

Ben had to laugh at that. "I have a feeling she'd prefer the latter."

He felt kind of icky talking about Amy behind her back, but he wasn't saying anything untoward! He was just trying to figure out what she was so that he could try to make it up to her when he managed to find her again. He'd left her six voicemails. 

And he had to work with the Winchesters and the angel to convince them she wasn't a threat. He couldn't see them killing her (he really didn't think he could) and it would probably be best for everyone's interests to keep her free and happy. Amy had been through enough. She didn't need to be under lockdown by Ben's screwy family. 

He flipped open his phone again, dialed her number. It was a good sign, wasn't it? It wasn't disconnected. 

Yet.

For a second, he thought she'd actually picked up by the way she went 

"It's Amy-  _shut it!_ " 

But then she went on to apologize, "No! Not you! Sorry! Okay, I am really-  _I said stay away from that!_  IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING," a high pitched shriek, not dissimilar to Ben's choking laugh, "Call me back later,  _wait up!_  and I'll call back if I'm not dead  _which isn't likely at the moment but_ -"

Click. A much calmer voice. "Leave your message after the tone!"

Beep. 

"Hey, uh." He licked his lips, suddenly dry. "It's Ben. You know that. Um. Voicemail seven? Maybe you'll listen this time. I am so,  _so_ sorry. I am a dick and an idiot and I'm sorry."

A pause, and Ben realized he was waiting for her to respond. He hadn't realized how easy it'd become to talk to her. The older sister he never wanted. "And... Yeah. Call me back, you know, if you want to know where I am so you can punch me in the face. I'm sorry."

And he hung up. Everyone was pretending not to have heard him. And for that, he couldn't help but be grateful.


	59. Junior Agent Smith & Reporter Tatraken

The questioning was a little different this time. Instead of rereading the dictionary in an effort to project 'reporter', Ben had been summarily bundled into a suit store and poked and prodded and pricked into a suit. Today, Ben was going to be FBI. 

 _Female body inspector_ , cackled the internet addicted portion of his brain.  _Ha!_

The rest of his brain lynched it.

Ben wanted to shed the suit and run for the hills, but he could feel the uneasiness pouring from Dean, and decided against it. The older man was on edge, after tossing and turning all last night. Ben had heard him through the paper-thin motel walls. 

They'd arrived on site late night, even the angel groggy and irritable. Two double motel rooms had been rented, and 'Oops' stares had been exchanged, mental coins flipped. Ben had ended up with Sam, as the least likely to accidentally or accidentally-on-purpose murder him in his sleep. 

He couldn't help but think back to the way Dean had been so well acquainted with how time worked in Hell. 

And maybe, he'd thought, that was what it was like to sort-of not-really be possessed by a demon. Becoming one. If that was the case... Ben's heart ached for Dean. He clearly wasn't a demon now, but there was something dark writhing deep in his eyes. He didn't think that was a coincidence. 

Back to the reality of his suit - Ben wasn't happy, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. The door was already creaking open, and the badge was in his hand and they were brandishing them at the little old lady. 

"Agents Smith, Smith, and Junior Agent Smith." Dean said, somehow not wincing. They'd realized a little too late that their only junior agent badge matched the only other surviving two badges. Which were all Smith. 

Sam forced a smile. If Ben didn't know the man quite so well, he'd probably think it was genuine. "No relation."

The woman had the look of the permanently unimpressed - she'd worn the expression so many times it had become part of her genetic makeup. Even her hair got in on the act, silky white waves with a little curl at the end like a sarcastic question mark. 

"Ms. Duratus? We're here to talk about your son." Ben tried, he really did, but even to his own ears he sounded like an idiot playing dress up. The Winchesters shifted beside him, a rustle like a cringe.

" _Madam_  Duratus."

Ben did a funny little bow out of instinct, habits from the shop kicking back in. Mrs. Masters always liked that. "Apologies, Madam Duratus. May we come in? You could become incredibly helpful in the ongoing investigation."

And even though the brothers were radiating confusion at Ben's sudden smooth tone, lack of nerves, the woman was doing the exact opposite. Ben could see the other default written into her wrinkles - a grudging smile. 

Then she yanked Ben in and slammed the door shut on the Winchesters. 

Ben yelped, the Winchesters startled, but even their reflexes weren't enough. The glossed glass door shut in their faces, leaving a distorted Ben mouthing  _What the hell_  at them from the other side. 

Madam Duratus was having none of Ben's attempted communication, dragging him to her sitting room with remarkable strength. She sat him down on her sofa, and Ben half expected her to return with a large knife instead of the promised tea. 

Ben sank into the sofa so far he felt like he was in quicksand. The golden velvet plush looked like grains, too, and he extracted himself before he died by sofa. The rest of the room didn't look all too lethal (unless that shade of periwinkle caused strokes or some such) so Ben contented himself with standing and fidgeting while Madam Duratus puttered away in the kitchen. 

The doorknob was jingling, and Ben knew the sounds of lock picking when he heard it. He edged over to the window, knocked once. Heads jerked towards him, and he mouthed  _I'M FINE_.

Then Ben threw himself back into the sofa of doom as the old lady puttered back through the doorway, toting a tray of tea and cookies. No knives in sight. Good. 

"Junior Agent Smith," she said happily. "You're the second progressive juvenile I've met in two days! The rest of the days I like to spend doubting humanity, but the young ones don't seem to be doing too badly this week."

Ben tried to extricate his arm to grab an empire cookie. It was in vain. "Another Junior Agent came by?"

The woman ate the cookie for herself, plopping herself down on the significantly less devouring sofa across from him. Ben cursed himself, the chair, and fate for putting him in this situation. When would the cases start to get  _normal_?

_You are in the wrong business for normal, man._

Madam Duratus poured two cups of tea, devoured another cookie. Ben flailed slightly from within the confines of the sofa. "Oh, not a Junior Agent. A lovely lady reporter with some fabulously nutty hair."

Ben's eyes widened. "Did she give you her name?"

Madam paused mid-pour. "Why do you care?"

Brain spun. "I like to keep, uh, in contract with other professionals my age! It's quite enjoyable to be able to hold a mature discussion with someone who knows what it's like to the the youngest in the field."

This seemed to make sense. "Amy Tatraken, I think. Yes, I remember because I thought she said Tetris the first four times and I made her write it out for me. She gave me a card with her number, would you like a copy?"

Ben nodded fervently. 

Madam Duratus dug in her pocket for a moment before handing Ben a tattered business card, with AMY TATRAKEN and a number emblazoned on the front, a  _Call me if anything comes up_  in achingly familiar handwriting on the back. 

Ben managed to yank his arm free long enough to accept the paper and type the number into his phone. Then the smile went back on full-force, and he started to question the woman about her deceased son.

Honestly, Madam Duratus seemed practically pleased her irritating moocher of a son was no longer kicking around. She complained about the hate mail she used to get over her son's dubiously researched studies on climate change. She complained about how disrespectful he was to the floorboards, and Ben hastily stopped scuffing his feet, glad for the next complaint about her poor hearing. She complained about the new weird guy in town. She complained about the neighbour down the street who was abusing his herd of chihuahuas. 

Ben sort of realized that this wasn't so much an interrogation as it was a therapy session. Madam Duratus ranted and stumbled over her words and forgot where she was and started over until Ben's mind was snarled in knots and the Winchester's patience had eroded back to the point of lock picking. 

He smiled gamely at her, cut her off on the third repeat of the the chihuahua beater situation. "Thank you so much, Madam Duratus. Your information will be incredibly helpful in the investigation." And he tried for a more personal smile. "And thank you for the young reporter's number. It will be lovely to get in contact with another intelligent youth."

Ben hefted himself out of the quicksand sofa with pure force of will and pretty much ran for the door. He went for the handle just as Sam finished picking the lock, and by the time the old lady caught up, it looked like Ben had legally opened the door and been pleasantly surprised to see his partners still hanging around. 

"Ben," Dean said meaningfully, at the same time as Sam was trying to coax the suddenly unimpressed woman into continuing her rant. "What happened?"

"Lots," he muttered. "There's a chihuahua beater down the road."

A glare.

Ben risked a glance at Madam Duratus, refusing the ample amount of buttering up Sam was trying to offer. "Nothing interesting. She doesn't seem all that bummed that her son is dead, but I think that's because she got a lot of hate mail from his work than any other ulterior motives. They were pretty estranged."

"And Cas said she wasn't an angel." Dean said, nodding. They'd sent the angel over for a quick recon when Ben was being stuffed into a suit. He'd pretended to be selling chocolate bars. The lady had been unsurprisingly unimpressed, and non angelic. 

Cas was currently checking out the site of the death. Apparently, he'd be able to see if there was any sort of angelic tampering, but the concerned looks Dean kept giving him and the offhand comments about his Grace weren't giving Ben the most favourable outlook on the situation. 

The door slammed, catching Ben's attention. Sam looked somewhat irked, but he turned and got off the porch in short order. "That's all we're going to get from her."

Ben laid a hand on his pocket, where the business card lay in wait. He didn't want to tell them about it. Not until he'd apologized. Not until he was sure that the Winchesters & Co wouldn't lynch her on sight. 

"Yeah," he said, trying to sound irritated. It wasn't hard. "Can we head back now? I want to get out of this monkey suit."

Sam had that face again, the one that said he was laughing internally.  _Cackling_  internally. "Sure. Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah. Coming."

And so they took their meagre supply of information back to the inferior Impala.


	60. Apologies & Maybe It's Not The Trickster

Ben didn't work up enough nerve for the call until a few hours later, when everyone else cleared off to go 'grocery shopping', aka a thinly disguised LETS GO TALK WITHOUT BEN.

He didn't mind. He had a best friend to apologize to.

"Hello?" And wonder of wonders she didn't sound homicidal. "Madam Duratus?"

"Uh," Ben said. "It's Ben."

_Click._

Ben winced. Redialed.

Frostily. "Hello?"

"I'm sorry," Ben said immediately. "I'm really, really sorry and also an idiot-"

_Click._

Wondering why he was such a masochist, Ben dialled again. This time, it rang four times before getting picked up.

"How did you get this number?"

Ben was flooded with relief. "Madam Duratus. We're sort of in town."

A grumble. "Why would she give you that?"

"She said something about you, and I spewed some nonsense about keeping in contact with other mature people my age or something?"

The line crackled. Then Amy sighed, a gust of static. "Sounds about right."

"I'm sorry," Ben said sincerely. "Really, I am. I said the  _wrong_  thing, I was stupid and I didn't think and I am so,  _so_  sorry."

"It's not going to be that easy, Benny boy," and man, it was good to hear that stupid nickname again. "You can't just say 'I'm sorry' and expect it to be fixed."

"I know. But it's a place to start?"

A silence that stretched like taffy. "Maybe."

Ben exhaled. "Thanks, Amy." A beat. "I don't suppose you're still in town."

"Duh," and he could hear her shuffle the phone, and her voice got a bit distorted. "But I am  _not_  running over to see you. I'm actually busy being  _productive_ , unlike you."

"Hey!"

"Yeah?" Amy snorted. "I'm at the library, researching what's going on with this crazy case. You're sitting on your butt and interrogating old ladies."

"Hey!"

Muffled clicking, and Ben could just catch a murmur of speech. Then Amy puffed out a breath. "Right. So, I'm thinking witch gone a little off her rocker. You?"

Ben frowned. "The Winchesters think it's a Trickster." He didn't know how much of their escapades were classified, so he tried, "The MO fits, and they think it's one they've met before."

Typing. "The archangel Gabriel? Don't think so."

"The Trickster was an  _archangel_?"

"They didn't tell you?"

"Well, they just said 'angel', so I assumed-"

"Yeah, you know what they say about people who assume, Benny boy."

"Hey!"

"You really thought a low-level angel could pull off this level of hijinks? Making a guy freeze to death during a heat wave, having a Nazi enthusiast killed by Hitler-"

"A  _what_ -"

"Haven't you been reading the underground conspiracy paper? Anyway, yeah, this is small beans. The last time the Winchesters ran into this guy that's on the hunter pipeline? He dumped them into TV land. Offing neo-Nazis? That's nothing."

Ben massaged his forehead, where a headache was beginning to form. "That's great. Really."

She chuckled. "So, where're you staying? Because I am so taking you up on that punch thing. Don't believe it's fixed."

"Um, about that?"

"Ben."

"I'm not trying to deprive you of your revenge!" Ben said hastily. "It's just, well, Sam's been researching what could be going on with you and they're all sort of jumpy. Might not be the best idea?"

"Screw you and your 'might not be the best idea' s." she muttered. Ben practically jumped at the profanity. Not a good sign. Then, with interest, "So whadda they think is going on? Divine intervention? Prophet of the lord?"

That phrasing sounded a little too familiar. "Uh, no. They're thinking nephilim, descendant of nephilim at first. Doesn't really fit..." and he tried for tact. "What's happening with Tate or your knife."

"I miss that thing, ugh."

"Then they moved on to partial possession, but that doesn't really fit either. You'd have to be possessed to use your powers for anything surpassing healing a bruise. And you're still yourself."

Silence.

"Aren't you?"

"Are you forgetting that conversation I  _still_  don't remember, you idiot? What about when I got stabbed and blacked out for a couple seconds and  _wasn't dead_? How does that fit that theory?"

Oops. Ben had forgotten about those. "Well, you're still teleporting and smiting and stuff as  _you_. So no, that doesn't fit either. And you said you didn't say yes!"

"Still a bit in confusion over how you actually say 'yes' to a non-corporeal being you can't see or hear."

"Same here. And the last option was that you're a fallen angel. Got born again and just don't remember your past life - they've encountered it before. Only Cas says that the real Amriel-"

"Oh, so I'm imaginary? Good to know."

"The  _angel_  Amriel was killed during a siege on hell more than five years ago."

More page rustling. "Doesn't hell have some pretty funky time, though?"

"Yeah, Dean mentioned that. Still, it doesn't make sense for you to have been born with a twin unless he was also an angel, and seeing as there's no angel named Tatsriel and you know, his current situation, I'm not thinking that's right either."

A sigh. "So basically, they have no freaking clue and it's making them antsy."

"Exactly."

"Lovely."

There was another silence, only it wasn't so awkward this time. 

"We can meet up tomorrow," Amy said. "Nine. Public library. I'll be there, and we can do some of our own investigating. Until then, I'll be researching spells and witches and local grimoires."

"Amy, they said it was the Trickster."

"Yeah, well, I don't think it is. You can be the unbiased third party tomorrow at nine. I'll see you there."

"Amy-"

_Click._

"Aw, c'mon!"


	61. Craisins & Cake

The Winchesters and angel got back only a couple minutes later, leaving Ben glad he'd decided to pretend he'd been working the entire time. He glanced up from a pile of papers on the Trickster, and tried to smile as if he wasn't hiding a secret friend. "Have fun?"

Dean grunted. Sam smiled. Cas still looked confused.

"We got fruit," Sam said, dangling Exhibit A: Bananas. Dean's scowl deepened.

"Banana's aren't bad," Ben said diplomatically. He hated bananas. The texture was just... eurgh. "Anything else?"

"Cake," Cas said. Dean shot him a Look.  _That was supposed to be a surprise!_ , he emoted.

"A what?" Ben said, pretending he didn't hear. He could barely keep himself from grinning. The ol' cake surprise gimmick. He couldn't.

"Crasins." Dean said, unconvincingly. He tried for a charming smile.

"Right," Ben said, straight faced. "Craisins are great. Did you get any eggs?"

"What is it with you and eggs?"

"Shut up, they're great."

" _A-hem_."

They both turned to face Sam, still dangling the bananas. "Either of you interested in dinner?"

"Sure." Then Ben rattled his papers importantly. "I'm researching all possible situations. So, clearly, I can't make dinner."

"All possible situations?" Dean asked, trying to make eye contact with Cas, who was inching towards the kitchenette thingie with a bag of groceries. "It's the Trickster. The MO fits perfectly."

Ben rattled the papers with less self importance. "Yeah, but we have to explore all the different possibilities, right? What if it's not the Trickster? What if it's a witch?"

"I hate witches."

"I know, Dean. But what if it is? We can't just go charging in with holy oil and angel blades if it's a witch."

"It's the Trickster."

Ben felt small again, with all the dubious glances getting passed over his head. "It's good to check, okay? And besides the MO, you haven't found any real evidence. Cas didn't find any angel vibes at the site and-"

"My grace may not have-"

"I  _get_  that. But still. I'm going to research all the possible options. I've already read all the stuff you told me to on the Trickster. This is just bonus. Okay?"

"Okay!" Sam said, trying to surreptitiously elbow Dean. "That's a great idea. Do you have anything?"

Ben hadn't been expecting to be taken seriously, so he fumbled for a second. "Yeah, uh, well, there's the fact that this is pretty small beans. Someone freezing to death isn't that hard to magic up. Plus, there's only been one other case sort of thing so far - a neo-nazi killed by someone a witness swears looked like Hitler."

"Gabriel  _was_  supposed to be dead, it would be realistic if he was only able to do a few, smaller stunts." Cas pointed out.

Ben made a sort of  _ehhhhh_  sound. "Still, this sort of small scale stuff doesn't quite fit the MO. And that's why you're so convinced. So yeah. Also? They're spread out. The Nazi issue was like two weeks ago, and the report just came out today for the freeze-heat-warning dude, but he's been dead for days. Does that scream inventiveness to you?"

Silence.

Dean. "I still think it's the Trickster."

Ben exhaled. "It's still good to look at all the options."

Then he had a brainwave. Excuse time! "I'll be at the library nine sharp tomorrow, and see if I can find anything in the records stretching back just a little farther. If it goes back more than... a few months? A year? It's likely to be a witch and not the Trickster."

And man, was that a good idea except he wouldn't have  _time_  with all the apologizing to Amy he was planning on doing. Oh well. He'd say that the librarians lost his notes or something.

"Huh," Sam said, and Ben tried not to be insulted by his surprise. "That's a good idea."

_I know. That's why I said it._

Ben busied himself with the papers - witch killing, apparently, had a lot of information. He was personally all for the witch killing potion,  _especially_  since there was a note on the bottom of the page that said IN STOCK. The bunker rocked.

Only they weren't at the bunker. No matter. Ben would absolutely adore to drive the Impala. Also, it would irritate Dean and Ben couldn't help but feel a juvenile sort of satisfaction in that.

"So," Dean said. "Dinner?"

"Yes,  _please_."

The men all busied themselves in the kitchenette, low voices rumbling out through the sound of disturbed pages. Ben caught his own name a couple times, and possibly a heated argument about what kind of car Ben liked the best.

He really hoped they decided on '67 Chevy Impala. Because  _really_.

The men then came to the realization that none of them could draw. Also, Ben was pretty sure he caught the phrase "forgot to get icing!".

He covered his laughter in a particularly dramatic paper shuffle.

Huh. This one looked interesting. Ben tugged a slightly crumpled paper out, smoothed it down across his lap.

It  _was_  interesting. Ben had literally no idea how the paper had gotten into the witches file, but still. Interesting.

It was a profile of sorts on a woman named Becky. There were large portions scratched out, and even larger portions covered in complaints. The only thing left readable was the name and a URL.

The URL also had a note next to it saying: GET CHARLIE ON IT ASAP.

"Ben?"

Ben jumped as if he'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "Yeah?"

"Food." Sam wandered in, peered down at the paper. He didn't seem to be having much luck reading it upside down. "What's that?"

"A file on some Becky? I dunno how it got into the 'witch' section."

Okay, now  _that_  was an impressive bitchface. Sam snatched the paper out of his hands while trying to look all calm. "Ha. Funny. What a weird coincidence. We don't know any Becky. Nope. I'm just gonna..."

And he tossed it in the trash. Ben gave him a funny look.

"Right!" Sam said. "Food!"

Ben stood in a shower of witchy information, made his way to the kitchen. Dean and Cas were standing next to a cake, looking slightly alarmed and slightly proud.

"Happy Birthday!"

"Please, dear god," Ben pleaded. "Don't sing."

Dean laughed. "No complaints here. Cake?"

Ben grinned. "Yes please."

Cake was duly served, and even though the cake was from a crappy little store in the middle of nowhere, it was surprisingly good.

"You are considered an adult by human law now?" Cas asked.

"Yep."

The angel frowned. "That does seem inconvenient. If you were to be arrested, you would now be sentenced with more time."

Ben snorted. Ate another bite of cake. "I know."

"But you aren't going to get arrested," Dean butted in. "and even if you did? We could bust you out."

"Um," Ben said. "Thanks?"

That was a hell of a birthday present. A literal get-out-of-jail-free card.

Ben shrugged, ate another forkful of cake. It beat a boring birthday card, that was for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, happy birthday Ben! (Let's hope you don't die before the next one) SORRY I MEAN LETS HOPE THE NEXT ONE IS JUST AS FUN.


	62. A Lack Of Snoring & A Weird Ass Brain

Ben was really, really glad that Sam didn't snore.

It wasn't something that he considered much (his mom didn't snore, Amy didn't snore) but yeah. First official year at college and he'd had to room with someone who could snore over the sound of Pompeii.

He was also really, really irritated that Sam didn't snore. Ben would welcome any reprieve from his freaking weird ass dreams.

* * *

Ben knew, in the sort of strange way all dreams are known, that he was in his house.

Well. Not his house. His mother's house. The house where he grew up. He knew it was the house, in that dream way, but the walls were warped and that weird crochet carpet in the living room was spinning slowly, taking the coffee table with it.

But that was normal. This was his house, and everything was all wrong because something was  _missing._

The pans in the kitchen were hanging without handles. the ticking of the clocks booming through the room. The hands were miniature guns, firing at the second mark until Ben's head vibrated with off-beat percussion.

Each step carried Ben farther than it should have, and in both a second and an hour, he was standing at the stairs again, too small in his own skin.

The railings were colder than wood had any right to be, and Ben was clutching them with all he had.

"He was my brother. And I can't save him. Can't even-"

And Ben was himself and on his feet again and he went, "Oh, stuff it. I've heard this before."

Then he snapped his fingers, just because. And everything tipped sideways into blackness.

* * *

"Ben, say hi!"

Ben didn't want to say hi. He didn't like the man hovering in front of him. He wasn't smiling. He didn't look like he liked Ben.

"Ben. Say hi to your dad!"

He clutched his mother's leg harder. "I don' wanna say hi."

There was a scoff from the man, and the face receded up to a spot higher than his mom's face usually rested. "You heard the kid, Lisa. He doesn't want to say hi. Can we be done?"

Ben could feel his mother stiffen. "No! He's just grumpy. We couldn't find his teddy last night."

"Well, isn't that a cryin' shame."

"Jacob!" and his mother had that angry voice, the one she used on him when he knocked over the milk. "He deserves to meet his dad at least once. Don't be a di- Don't be rude."

The man scowled down at Ben again, and Ben managed to scowl right back. "Hi."

"See?" His mother swept him up, and he wrapped his arms around her, still keeping an eye on the mad man. "He said hi."

"Amazin'," the man drawled. "Next up, Harvard."

"Jacob!"

"Look, honey," he said, and Ben really didn't like his voice, all scratchy and full of himself. He wriggled, trying to get down, and his mother let him to the ground on autopilot. "I pay child support. I don't fight for rights. He's all yours. What else d'you want?"

His mother was shaking with anger now. "I want Ben to know his father, you jerk! All you have to do is be civil and show up once a year! Is that too much to ask?"

Ben didn't think he wanted to see this man once a year. He didn't like the scowl or the way he spit out his words, drooling them like Ben hadn't drooled in  _forever_.

"Yeah, honey, that's a bit much to ask. I've got a life-"

"You have a  _son_!"

The man opened his mouth again, so Ben decided enough was enough and kicked him in the shin. The man screamed and hopped backwards, spouting out bad words.

"Don' swear," Ben said, giving the man his best disapproving stare. His mother let out a stunned little laugh, and the man swore again.

"Keep that crazy kid away from me!"

"You know what?" Ben's mother said, scooping him into her arms again. "I think I will. Thanks for nothing, douchewad."

"That's a bad word, mommy."

"I know, baby." she said, squeezing him tight. "But he's a bad man."

* * *

"Ben?" and he was being shaken awake. "Ben."

He made an unintelligible noise and cracked open a lid. Sam was staring down at him, long hair dangling into his face.

"Is it morning already?" Ben scanned for a clock, but Sam shook his head.

"You were shouting." And Sam seemed to relax back into normal Sam mode instead of Psycho Killer At The Ready mode. "'Wake up' isn't a bad word, by the way."

_Bad word. That's a bad word._

That seemed familiar.  _Too_  familiar. Dammit, what obscure memory had his brain dredged up today? He wasn't getting that funked-out-memory Dean vibe, but he  _was_  getting a sort of family vibe.

Ugh. Ben hated his brain.

"'M fine." he said, rolling back over. The clock blinked sleepily at him. Three o' clock. "Go back to sleep. I'll try not to dream up any more bad words."

Ben jolted, memory rushing back like a tide. "Waaagh!"

"Ben?" Sam was concerned again, and if Ben wasn't mistaken, he had his Therapy Face on.

Ben clenched his eyes shut. "It's nothing. Stupid toddler memory. Weird ass brain. It's fine."

"Okay?"

And Sam wandered off back to bed, leaving Ben pretty much pondering his existence. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love me some dream sequences. Sorry if it was too odd! But hey, Ben's weird brain coming into play again. Jacob, the father that is always absent. At least we know who Ben's father is now? Right? Right?
> 
> Ben was more badass as a kid then he is as teenager/semi-adult. Anyone here surprised? Didn't think so.
> 
> I would like to take this 100% unrelated opportunity to remind you guys that I really, really plan this crazy story. If you're seeing odd things, they're either clues or red herrings. I know exactly where I'm going and where it's going to end, even if I don't have all the exact details along the way. I'm not making up the crazy plot as I go! Not since like, what, chapter seven or something? :D


	63. Lateness & Publishing Misadventures

After a quick breakfast and skillful avoidal of Sam's concern, Ben made it to the front steps of the library about thirty seconds before nine.

"You're late."

He turned, seeing Amy perched up on the griffin statue the library seemed to think was 'welcoming'. Amy looked almost washed out, and there was a tight set to her face that spoke of pain.

"I am not!" Ben protested. "I'm thirty seconds early. Are you okay?"

Amy hopped down, clattering to stand in front of Ben and give him an evil eye. "It's nine-oh-five. Your phone is late."

Ben glanced up at the ornamental clock set in granite, winced. "Fine. But seriously, are you okay?"

She shrugged. "I feel like I'm being filleted with a rusty dagger, but other than that,  _fine_."

Ben was appalled. "What? What happened? Do you need medical assistance?"

Amy gave him a Look, quite reminiscent of his mother. "Cramps, Benny boy. I have cramps."

A firetruck trundled by, and it was a much lighter shade of red than Ben's face. "Oh. Um... that sucks."

"Yep!" and she was back to her normal self, forehead smoothing back. "Right! So, what're we doing first?"

"First? Oh. Right." Ben fidgeted. "I..."

"...have no idea and thought that I would have a plan." Amy finished. "So, the usual."

"Sorry."

"Oh, don't apologize. I've missed your absolute incompetency."

"Hey!"

Amy grinned. "I'll brief you on local grimoires then, yeah? There's about... one. Came in a couple years ago in a shipment of ancient books found in some dead rich dude's basement."

Ben chewed his lip. "Well, I  _did_ have this idea. I mean, it was an excuse to get out to the library, but we could always give it a cursory glance. Sound okay?"

A beat.

"Ben," Amy said slowly. "You have to actually  _tell_ me what this plan is. I'm not telepathic."

"Oops." and Ben explained, as concisely as he could, about the whole research thing. "Then," he concluded, "we'd be able to tell if it's a witch or Gabriel."

"It is  _not_ Gabriel," Amy grumbled.

"How do you know?"

"Because it doesn't make any sense. That's how I know."

"The MO fits-"

And then Amy burst into laughter, doubling over and trying to stifle giggles in her hands. Ben hovered uncertainly. "Amy? Um, you okay?"

She straightened, chortling, and started digging through the bag on her shoulder. "Ben, Ben, Ben, this you gotta see."

"What?"

Amy pulled a book from her bag, one with already yellowed pages and a suspiciously melodramatic cover.  _SUPERNATURAL_ , it proclaimed.

"It's a book," he said. Confused. 

"Read the back, Benny boy. I guarantee you'll want to read it."

He flipped it over, squinted.

"What the  _hell_ -"

Amy snorted. "Yep. That is  _exactly_ what you think it is."

Ben had a mini flashback to that conversation with Sam. That  _face_ he'd made when Ben had jokingly said that they should publish their lives. Oh man. 

"I'm on book four," Amy confided. "Of like, twenty. They're all free online, and someone even found the unpublished works. Some Becky girl?"

Ben had to sit down he was laughing so hard. Amy joined him, still cackling. "I found a file on her last night! Sam made this godawful face when he saw it, and he tossed it. No  _wonder_."

"Becky has a maaaaaajor crush on Sam." Amy confirmed, fanning through the pages. "I think she even shows up in one of them - of course, she claimed that the author just named a character after her or some bull, but if the Winchesters are real, so is she. It's a hell of a coincidence."

Ben shook his head dumbly, stomach aching. It felt so, so good to have Amy laughing at his side again, even if there was something in her eyes tugging her back a step from friend. 

"Amy," he said, once he could breathe again. "I'm sorry. I really am."

"I know," she said, sobering much too fast, laughter speeding down the drain of doom. "It's like my father, though. He could tell me it wasn't my fault, you can tell me you're sorry, but it doesn't make it better. Time's the only thing that can make it better."

And she heaved herself off the stones, wincing again as her internal organs screamed. "Oh, and one more thing?"

Ben levered himself up beside her. "Yeah?"

Amy wheeled back and punched him in the face.


	64. Disapproving Old Ladies & A Black Eye

"Amy!" he hissed. "I've got a  _black eye_! Nobody's going to take me seriously with- Hello, ma'am!'

What was it with middle aged women and disapproving looks, anyway? That was literally all Ben was seeming to run across on these cases. Middle aged disapproving women.

The woman scowled, almost as if she could hear his thoughts. "No."

The door slammed shut. Ben's smile melted in stages, no match for the blatant message of door in the face. Amy was still grinning beside him, but he was pretty sure that was because of how miserable he looked more than any sort of supernatural acting ability.

"That was skilled, Brae- wait, no." Her smile widened. "That was skilled,  _Bib._ "

"What?"

Amy dragged him down the steps, starting to giggle. Ben's depth perception was waaay off, and she had to stop him from face planting. Like he needed another injury. Ben could barely see out of his right eye. And  _man_ , did it hurt. 

It was also totally his fault. He had literally  _invited_  Amy to sock it at him. He didn't know why he'd expected she wouldn't take him up on it.

Today, it was murderously bright out. What a day to have a black eye. Of course, there were some upsides to the brightness, such as being gifted with the ability to see the twenty-something daughter of the head librarian gifting him with a positively killer look from the upper window. She slammed her blinds shut.

"Where to?" Ben asked, trying not to wince as his eye throbbed. Again. "We had the suspiciously convenient timing of the records being stolen a couple days ago. And the librarian - don't even want to know where you got her address,  _honestly_  Amy - doesn't like us." Ben tried to glare at Amy. "Likely because I have a  _black eye_  and look like a delinquent."

" _Please_ , Bib. It's because she's rude." 

"What- okay. Amy... Bib?" 

Amy grinned, a wicked little thing. "Bib, yeah. Do you not know your own initials?"

Ben had to parse that a second, and his jaw dropped as Amy started to drag him away from the cracked asphalt and ornate, although chipped, railing of the head librarian's house. How the  _hell_ \- "How did you...?"

Amy slapped her bag, winked. "Benjamin Isaac Braeden, appears in mid-early series to help the Winchesters fend off some changelings. I have to say, I particularly like the foreshadowing of him getting picked on for not being a normal kid. And then he fights back! You know, if I was to extend that, I'd almost think that he would grow up to be a hunter!"

"Oh, shut it,  _Amazing Amriel_."

Amy crossed her eyes at him, went to razz him, but got cut off again with a wave of pain. Ben's hand was on her shoulder in a second, steadying her. Amy only wobbled a little, face blanching. Ben couldn't imagine how much pain it had to be for her to do that, and he was  _so_  glad he wasn't a girl. They stayed like that for a second, a tableau of pain, before Amy broke off again. Dug in her bag for some Advil. 

"I forgot to take it again at noon," she told him, not glancing up as she dry-swallowed the pills. "Okay? I'm fine. Let's move on."

Ben had to hurry to keep up, following the irritating girl to the corner, where he caught up, panting, at the streetlight. "Wait up, Amy."

"Or speed up, slowpoke," she said, but she went slower this time, face still pinched. 

Ben tried to grin sideways at her, trying to haul the levity back. "Yeah, yeah. Where to next?"

Amy sighed. "Grimoire, Bib. Do keep up."

"Hey!"

She snorted. "As I told you like, two hours ago max, some rich dude got un-rich enough to auction off the random unidentified ancient books in his basement. Based off archived photos from the auction site, it looks like a lovely grimoire. The library bought it - something about wanting to expand the supernatural section? As  _if_  that's a good idea, ha - anyway, they purchased it. About a week later, it was on the shelf. Unfortunately, less than a month after that, the staff realized it was missing."

"So, someone stole it?"

Amy shot him an exasperated look, a bit of the pain fading from around her eyes. "No, Ben. Someone took it out for dinner and dancing in Paris- yes, Bib. Someone stole it."

Ben stepped it up a notch, jogging yup beside Amy before settling back into step. "Hey, how was I supposed to know?"

"Common sense?"

"Hey!"

Amy laughed. "Yes, Bib. Well, anyway, we need to find out where the grimoire went, and then find out who stole the past three years worth of newspapers. And see if we know anyone with some skills, because the library's archive of newspapers got wiped. This is the smallest, most irrelevant town  _ever_. It doesn't even have an online newspaper. Any ideas for getting at the records?"

"Well," Ben said, huffing slightly. Amy was freaking  _fast_  for someone with apparently debilitating cramps. "Um, it could be the same person? The same person that stole the grimoire and records. They might have access to the library, right?"

Ben could  _feel_  the eye roll. "Duh, Bib. That was the assumption?"

"Whatever. But hey! If we could figure out who has access to both the supernatural archives and the newspaper archives, and has the authority to remove barcodes and trackers and stuff - they have security at the library, don't they? - then we could have our man."

"Or woman," Amy reminded him. "Equal opportunity villains!"

Ben nodded. "Right. And- wait, where are we going?"

Fine, he hadn't been paying attention. In Ben's defence, he trusted Amy not to lead him to a gateway to hell or WalMart or other such horrific places. When he  _really_  looked around for the first time, he realized he could see the library up ahead. The griffins didn't look any less scary from this distance. "Amy, we've been to the library."

"I know, Bib. Research isn't the only reason to be going to the library, you know." She turned to face him, eyes comically wide. "There's these things there? Called books? And they, like, let you read! About imaginary places!"

Ben stuck his tongue out.

They stopped outside the library, clock ticking loudly against the granite above their heads. Ben, awkward as usual, tried for a bit of a wave. "I'll be... seeing you? I guess."

Amy shook her head. "Well, duh, Benny boy. Bib. I'll be calling later if I find anything. We're on the same team, remember?"

Ben smiled. "Yeah, okay. Thanks. I'll see if I can convince the Winchesters to look into the witch thing a little more. Maybe they can get that friend from Oz to get the records back for us."

Amy wasn't listening. Instead, she was staring over his shoulder with a sort of stunned... Ben almost wanted to call it terror. Apprehension, certainly. "Amy?"

No response. Ben turned, and when he saw exactly who was standing near the entrance to the library, obviously staring at them, he was sure his face blanked out too. 

"...crap."

The Winchesters were at the library.


	65. Healing & Chihuahuas

Amy yanked him back around to face her before the Winchesters could get a good look at Ben - not that it was in any doubt who they were - and reached for his face. He almost flinched back, but her fingers were cool and was barely touching the edges of the bruise. The pain faded under her touch, swelling receding, and by the time Amy shoved him back around to face Sam and Dean, the black eye was gone.

He didn't know if it was for his benefit or hers. It couldn't look good for Ben to be sporting a black eye when Amy was already under such investigation.

But hey, he wasn't going to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. No more pain!

Well, Dean's face promised pain, but that wasn't totally immediate so Ben was happy enough.

Amy was careful to keep distance between herself and Ben, as if she thought the Winchesters would assume she was about to knife him or something. Considering she actually didn't have a knife anymore, Ben thought that if she was able to get a new one and knife him, he deserved the stabbing.

Sam was the first to reach them, what with the mile long legs and all. He seemed to loom over them for the first time, and Ben had to resist the urge to cower.

"Ben," Sam said, in a remarkably civil tone. "Where were you?"

Oh. Whoops. Maybe that was what they were freaked out about.

"Out with Amy!" Ben shot a glance at her, made note of how stiff she was standing. "Who was helping me figure out some stuff about a grimoire that entered the area a couple years ago."

"And!" Amy added, "Good news! All the records, newspapers, whatever, from the past couple years have been stolen, and this little hick town didn't have them recorded electronically. They were stolen about the time I got to town, so I'm calling the no-such-thing-as-coincidence thing. It's totally a witch."

She sounded pretty much like her normal self, and the Winchesters were looking a lot less homicidal now that they knew Ben wasn't dead/kidnapped/angelified. Well, Sam looked back to his serene normal. Dean... not so much. His hand was curled tight, and that darkness in his eyes was back full force.

Ben could taste the guilt, a taste somewhere between old pennies and the weird sensation of hitting your nose. He tried to grin at Dean, but the man was  _not_  catching his eye.

Sam shook his hair, hair flying shampoo commercial style. "Ben, you should've  _told_  us."

Ben winced. Shifted. "Well, you guys didn't know Amy was in town, and with the way you've been all freaky about her..."

Dean huffed. "We aren't going to gank your girlfriend, Ben."

"She's not my girlfriend!" Ben protested, at the exact same time as Amy said, "He's not my  _boyfriend_!"

Ben couldn't help but be slightly offended by how disgusted Amy sounded.

Dean held up his hands in surrender, but Ben could see him laughing internally, some of the darkness trickling away. Ben scowled.

"Right!" Sam said, peacemaker once again. "Ben, don't say you're going to be somewhere and then go somewhere else, please."

Ben sighed. "Fine. Why are you guys here?"

The Winchesters exchanged looks. Ben resisted the urge to start tapping his foot.

"You know how that lady-" Dean started.

"Madam Duratus?"

A glare. "Yeah. You know how she mentioned the chihuahua abuser?"

Ben groaned. "Yep. She mentioned them. A lot."

"Well," Sam said, with tact. "The chihuahua beater has been uh, eaten. By his chihuahuas."

" _Plot twiiiiiist_." Amy said gleefully. Ben hit her.

"That's... charming." Ben told Sam. "But what does that have to do with- oh."

Payback. Of the extreme sort. The ironic sort. The abused-helpless-chihuahuas-eating-their-asshole-owner sort.

Gabriel.

"We can go check for hex bags." Amy said, already poised on the tip of her toes. "Before someone removes them." She took a quick look at the Winchesters, sighed deeply. "Or, you could bring along your angel friend and have him meditate for angel vibes or whatever."

A pause.

" _And_ ," Amy said, in the tone of someone dangling a carrot. "I will keep my magicness on full alert so I can also tell if there are any angel vibes - not that I'd have any idea, you know, what that feels like but it's the thought that counts, right?"

Ben sighed again.

Sam nodded. "Sounds good. Dean, can you-"

"On it." Dean pulled out his phone, shot off a quick text to Cas.

"When did the guy get mauled?" Ben asked on the way to Dean's Impala. Somewhere inside, the college kid he'd been quailed.

"Only a couple hours ago - Sammy and I have a police radio, it got called in maybe an hour ago? And we went to find you at the library. You're lucky you showed up when you did."

Ben knocked shoulders with Dean. "Sorry. I just... Sorry."

Dean smiled, tired. "Yeah, kiddo. It's fine."

Ben knew it wasn't, but he dropped it anyway. He went to open the door to the Impala, thinking he deserved front seat for  _once_  since his own car was far, far, away. But no sooner had he gone to sit than Amy appeared in the seat, grinning.

"Shotgun!"

Ben laughed and hauled her out, dumping her butt on the asphalt as Dean watched with a sort of stunned disbelief, Sam trying to hold back laughter a few feet back. But as soon as Ben turned back, lunge for the seat, he came up short as Amy smiled with wild abandon.

"I  _said_  shotgun, Bib."

"Hey!"

She was laughing with victory all the way to the case house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Amy for most childish teenagers of the century, anyone? They almost remind me of early season Sam and Dean. All they need is a prank war. "Plot twiiiiiist!" *face palm* Oh, Amy. 
> 
> Anyway! Winchester & Ben bonding moments! Oh Dean and pretending everything's fine. I thought we'd been over this? Does BEDAZZLED FINE ring any bells with you? *sighs*
> 
> I hope you guys have a lovely week!


	66. Second Chance & Pieces Of A Person

"Agents Rogers, Barnes, and Junior Agent Smith." Sam told the police officers, each of the fake agents brandishing their fake badges. Ben was still slightly sore about being a junior agent. And a junior agent  _Smith_  at that. 

"And Reporter Tatraken," Amy said, voice somehow lower. Again, Ben did a double take at how much  _older_ she looked. After she'd made the - quite valid - point that  _nobody_ will let a teenage reporter into a  _murder scene_ , Sam had stopped about five minutes out. Within ten minutes, Amy had taken a kit of makeup and transformed herself into a slightly wrinkled middle aged woman. 

Predictably, she also acted irritated with Ben. Because why stop the tradition of angry old women.

Ben's smile felt heat-sealed on in the midday sun. The officer, a - surprise - grumpy middle aged woman, scrutinized them for another few seconds before grunting and waving them by.

"Why so many feds?" Ben could hear her whisper to her colleague. "It was chihuahuas."

"Drugs?" her partner muttered back, casting a shifty look at Ben when he thought Ben wasn't looking. His handlebar moustache quivered. "I mean, they could be investigating drugs and chihuahuas. Or the feds could be stoned out of their minds."

Amy coughed into her fist, badly concealing a laugh. Ben shrugged, mouthed  _Or, you know, we could be hunters. Haven't they noticed by now how_ _many_ _fake feds there are at weird events?_

Amy shook her head, her hair bobbing in it's top-heavy bun. Personally, Ben thought it looked like she'd attached a doorknob to her head. Of course, he valued all of his body parts equally, so he'd never say  _that_  out loud. 

"This way," the partner said, joining the Winchesters. As per usual, he looked like a shrimp next to them, and ignored Ben. 

Amy twitched beside him, and Ben elbowed her. "You okay? Feel any angel vibes?"

"Yeah," she whispered back. "And, no. It's just... I am  _so_  used to just teleporting ahead of annoying people."

Ben snorted, and followed the Winchesters.

And almost wished he hadn't. Beside him, Amy gulped convulsively, and Ben's heart lurched when he remembered what had happened to her parents oh god he had  _just_  messed that up-

He grabbed her hand, yanked her out of the room before she could see much more than the edge of an intestine, a pool of blood. Ben's stomach turned, and he couldn't imagine how horrible it had to be for her. 

Amy yanked her hand out of his, tore her hair down, twisting her hair into a rope again. It was something she hadn't done for so long Ben had almost forgotten. It turned again and again, streaks of white that had made her look so old just seconds before starting to curl out. Her hands spun over it, circles, circles. 

"Amy," he said gently. "You should go ask the other officers what they know. See if they've found a hex bag anywhere, or signs of anyone else entering the house. You don't have to go in there. 

Her eyes were blank, lidded with something horrible. She looked at him, blank, still. "I'm not fragile, Ben. It's just a body."

"It's just a  _body_?" Ben said incredulously. "Yeah. A dead body, mauled. Amy, forgive me for stepping too far, but I think you'd be better off finding out all you can." He tried to look sensible. "After all, are they more likely to feel guilty and hide stuff around feds," and he snorted. "That they think are on drugs? Or a reporter, who has looked them in the eye and gone, 'ITS OFF THE RECORD!'."

Amy flickered away, juddering into view a few feet to the left. She twisted her hair the other way, curls frizzing and popping free. "Fine. Fine, Ben. You get what you want. Again. Go," she flapped her hand at the doorway. The smell of iron and rot drifted through, and Ben tried not to gag. "Go on, then."

"Amy..."

"Go on." And she was back where she was a second ago, twisting her hair up and over back into a bun. "I'll be fine. That's me: Amy, fine, always got a plan."

Ben stood for another second, until her bun was fastened in place, then gave her a hug. She was solid and warm. He always forgot that about people, how warm and  _there_  they always were. She took another breath, let it out in one solid go, pushed him back. "I'm  _fine_ , Braeden. Didn't I just say that? No need to get touchy-feely."

He rolled hiseyes. "Yeah, yeah, Amazing Amriel."

She stuck her tongue out, and flounced out. 

Ben went back into the room, the site of the... well, he couldn't quite call it crime. Since it wasn't exactly committed by people.

Sam and Dean and Castiel, who'd somehow slipped by Ben in the last few minutes, were standing around the body, looking concentrated and meaningful, and querying the two other officers in there. It was all Ben could do not to lose his lunch. 

The body was in pieces. Sure, intellectually he'd known that the man had been mauled to death, but he hadn't  _understood_. 

The man was in pieces. Each piece was outlined in police tape. Ben saw a foot, a... stomach, and a line of torn intestines extended from each side of the body. With his heart in his throat, Ben could hear Amy in his ears, the eerie way she'd talked about her mother. 

_Did you know the small intestine is about twenty feet long? I know that now._

Ben knew that now. The fact was engraved in his brain, bolded in neon lights. He closed his eyes for longer than a blink warranted.

This was the first dead body he'd even seen that he hadn't created. It was the first  _human_  dead body he'd seen. 

"Ben?"

Dean was looking at him with concern. So Ben wiped his face clean of emotion, and trundled over. "Yeah?"

The police officers had cleared out of earshot, leaving Ben a perfect view of the most concentrated parts of the boy. The head was there, minus the scalp. The torso was there, the ribcage. Half of a leg.

Ben looked away. 

"Where'd your friend go? Why isn't she here?" Cas, doing his unnerving stare again.

Ben hoisted his smile back into place. "Because this looks a lot like how her parents died and I'm trying not to be an asshole about it this time."

Dean looked like he was choking on his own spit. 

Sam pursed his lips. "That's thoughtful of you, Ben." Beat. "Seen anything?"

Ben scratched the back of his head. "Nope. Amy's checking with all the stuff already removed from the crime scene, though."

Both Winchesters nodded. Cas stared.

"So," Sam said. "It was definitely a chihuahua. The bite marks are  _tiny_. Frankly, I'm surprised it had enough strength to do this sort of damage, but it's not outside the realm of possibility."

"Vicious little bastards," Dean muttered. "And the reason the guy died was from a ripped out throat, and he was  _very_  under the influence. The little buggers jumped him when he was drunk and that was it for the poor guy."

They lapsed into silence, staring at the pieces of corpse on the floor. Ben studied the pool of blood, the tiny claw marks on the wood floor.

"This," he said with feeling, "is a frigging  _weird_  case."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Oops. I'm a COUPLE chapters behind. So sorry!


	67. Scary Dogs & Hexbags

Everyone seemed to agree with him, though Ben couldn't help but think how different their scales of weird were. For Dean, it was probably a weird case because Ben and Amy were there. Ditto for Sam. For Cas, it was probably a weird case because it was a  _case_. The man didn't seem like the best of fake agents, even if he was trying. There was something about his demeanour that didn't exactly scream  _FED._

Ben got out of that room as soon as they were finished surreptitiously searching the nooks and crannies, trying to get away from the stench and the blood and the emotions.

Guilt, for one. He had said some truly atrocious things to Amy, and if her parents had been even a percentage of this, he wanted to march himself straight to the nearest bridge and throw himself off it. 

And she'd been the one to do it. She had the front row sear to the dismemberment, to the tearing and breaking of bone.  _I_ _ripped_ _I_ _tore_ _I_ _murdered_. She'd destroyed her family, what little she had of it.

Her family. Did she have any left? Ben knew one set of grandparents had died when she was five, the other set a few years ago. But cousins? Did she have uncles and aunts?

Horror. He was getting that from the room too. If it really  _was_  Gabriel, really  _was_  an archangel...  _how_  could an angel  _do_  that? Sure, the angel itself wasn't responsible but to make this sort of thing happen. Ben knew it was payback of the ironic sort, knew the man had abused his chihuahuas. But this wasn't just a bite back. This wasn't the man being beaten by activists. 

This was a man being  _killed_. Brutally mauled. 

What sort of angel would do that? What sort of  _person_  would do that?

Ben came back to reality with a shriek. His shriek, actually. To be fair, it was quite warranted. 

Amy was holding two chihuahuas, one in each arm, cooing to them. The police officers were watching with wariness, but the most untoward thing either of the emaciated dogs were doing was covering Amy's face in dog drool.

One of them turned to look at him, and Ben had to stifle another shrill scream when he saw flecks of blood caked on it's tiny little whiskers.

"Am- Reporter Tatrakis- Tatraken," he said, stumbling over the stupid complicated syllables. "Are those the dogs responsible for the... carnage?"

Amy grinned at him, turned to coo at the brown one. "Yes, you are! Are you a cutie pie? Aww! You are!"

Ben knew that 'saucers' didn't even remotely capture how wide his eyes were. "Um... you... those are the..."

Amy gave the tan one a noogie. It didn't eat her. 

Ben took his steps slowly, carefully, easing up to his best friend as if she hadn't just gone insane and cradled two  _literally man eating dogs_  to her face.

The brown one yapped at him, and Ben stumbled back a step, clutching his heart. The officers snickered, and Amy straight out guffawed. "What, scared of two adorable little munchkins, kid?"

"Yes," Ben said fervently. "Considering they  _mauled a man to death_  less than three hours ago."

The officers stopped snickering. 

Amy scowled deeply. "Yes,  _Junior_ Agent." As an afterthought. "Smith." She petted the dogs another few seconds before lowering them back into a crate Ben hadn't noticed. "That is why they will be taken to the veterinarian and euthanized. They are clearly lethal-"

The brown one yipped. Amy smiled down at it, makeup'd wrinkles crinkling. "Lethal creatures. Anyway, you and your fellow agents have been personally tasked with taking them there."

She fixed him with a Look, one that Ben recognized quite well from the horrible author talks.  _Just go along with it._

"Yeah, sure." he said.

She raised an eyebrow. Ben sighed. "Yes, ma'am."

He picked up the chihauhua crate with no small amount of trepidation. At every jolt, the dogs barked and Ben had another heart attack.

When Ben looked up, Amy was right in his face, giving him an inscrutable look. She put her hand out, and Ben had to give her a Look of his own. Really?

 _Really + dismemberment if you don't_ , her eyes said.

Ben offered his hand, and Amy took it with both of hers, shaking and loudly complimenting his resolve and giving him the address to the selected veterinarian. 

Something pressed into his palm, multiple sharp and smooth somethings. A piece of cloth, too. Ben's eyes did the UFO impression again, and he had to pretend it was because of the dogs.

_Hex bag._

Amy finally let go, having passed off the contents of her pockets to Ben, and Ben did a funny little bow thing that let him slip the pieces into his pocket. 

Amy waved him a sarcastic little goodbye, and Ben trotted off to the car, a slightly confused Sam and Dean and Cas following. They'd finished combing the room without looking that they were insulting the (low levels of) intelligence of the local police. 

Ben got in the shotgun, settled the heavy crate in his lap. The door creaked, and Dean swung into the driver's seat beside him. Ben grinned at Sam and Cas, stuffed in the back like sardines.

"I got it. There was a hex bag. It's a witch."


	68. Or Not & Dean Hates Witches

Cas regarded him. "Or Gabriel and a witch. I was getting some strong angelic power in there for a few minutes in the beginning."

Oh. Right. Because it was always freakin' complicated.

"There was a hex bag," Ben repeated, with less confidence. "There is a witch somewhere around here." And he turned to Dean, and before Dean could open his mouth went "I freaking hate witches." in his best Dean voice.

Dean blinked in surprise, then glared. With amusement. He was almost chuckling as he started the car, rumbled his way out of the lot.

Ben turned back to the mirror, catching Sam's eyes. "I've got all the components in my pocket. Amy found it somewhere, took it apart, and gave it to me." Ben scrabbled at his pocket, snorted. "When we unload the dogs elsewhere, I'll be able to get at them. Amy wanted me to save them."

"Ben, they killed that man."

Ben shrugged as well as he could with the crate on his lap. "Under the influence of either an archangel or a hex bag." He caught Cas's eyes. "Or both. They really aren't responsible for it. They were just the weapons that others used."

Sam massaged his forehead. "Fine, whatever. But where's-"

"Amy?" Amy said. Dean didn't crash the car, which in Ben's eyes, was a feat, because Ben wasn't even driving and he nearly jumped out of his skin. 

"Amy is right here," Amy continued, sounding all too pleased with herself. "Amy likes talking about herself in the third person."

"Amy needs to be quiet." Ben said, as Dean took a corner with more speed than was necessary. The dogs barked. 

Amy laughed. "Right. Anyway. I'm going to take the dogs to a shelter that's far enough away to not know that the dogs were used by a witch to murder someone, but the closest one that has a no-kill policy. Sound good?"

"How would you plan on doing that?" Cas asked, staring at Amy with more intensity than he'd ever stared at Ben. There was something in his eyes, more than just curiosity and concentration. 

Almost jealousy. Or a tired sort of want. 

Right. Cas had his powers - his Grace - on the wack. And here Amy was, a weird not-quite-angel with powers stronger than his. That had gotta sting. 

"Teleportation, most likely." Amy said, caught Ben's eye in the mirror. Stuck her tongue out. "And by the way, I  _told_ you it was a witch."

"It might not be a witch," Cas grumbled. Amy gave him the eyebrow. "Might not be  _just_  a witch."

Amy facepalmed - actually, literally, facepalmed. " _Why_ ," she said. "Are you guys so  _intent_  on it being an archangel?"

"Cause it makes sense?"

Amy sighed. "No. It doesn't, Dean. I mean, really, why do you care?"

"Dean hates witches," Ben supplied. "Could be that."

"Hey!"

Amy ignored them. "What makes you think it was Gabriel at all?"

"I felt traces of angelic power for a few minutes while we were examining the scene," Cas said. 

Amy frowned. "What sort of power? Traces, or immediate? Plain angel level, or archangel level?"

Cas looked puzzled. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

Amy closed her eyes. "No. Whatever. Anyway!" Back to grinning. "Back to the motel to stew on the information, now?"

Ben squirmed. The dogs yapped. "I think so?"

"More like actually go over the information," Sam corrected. "But yeah. We're going to head back and check out the components of the hex bag. We'll be able to see what they were intending to do with it-"

"-drive dogs nuts, Sammy-"

" _specifically_ , like to drive them nuts or to drive them to kill. After that, we can search for local apothecaries or the like, see if they know who's been buying them."

That made sense. 

"Great." Amy settled back, ignored the fact she wasn't buckled in. Ben's inner mechanic was screaming. "Would you happen to have makeup remover? I feel like a clown."

Sam frowned, whether about clowns or the accusation that he might own makeup remover. "No."

She sighed. "Great."

Ben laughed. "Yeah, old lady. We'll see if your creaky bones can last all the way to the motel."

"Oh, I'll show you creaky bones, Bib. See how much you creak after I've had a go-"

"Children," Dean said. "Can you not wait until we get out of the car?"

"Yeah,  _Dad_."

Dean's eyes stopped laughing, and the rest of the ride was silence.


	69. Crazy Lady & Oops

Ben was the first out of the car back at the motel, eager to be rid of the chihuahuas. Amy was second out, not bothering with boring things like doors. Cas still looked a little sore about that, third out. 

Ben handed over the chihuahuas with relief, glared at Amy when she laughed at him. "They're just dogs, Benny boy."

"Actually, murderers," he said, but she was already gone. Ben sighed.

Ben got exactly one step inside the motel before everything started to go wrong again. 

There was a girl standing with her back to them in the middle of the room. Woman, Ben corrected himself, as she turned. Her sandy hair was chopped close to her ears, ends shaggy and untrimmed. Her stance was of a woman ready to leap off a cliff and fly, shoulders turned up and out, arms out slightly.

There was something odd in her eyes. Power of a sort.

Ben didn't get another look, because Ben was a smart boy. He was out of that room before you could say  _crazy lady_.

Sam and Dean and Cas were all staring at him. Ben, on autoshop instinct (the customers are like bears. They can  _smell_  fear), smiled. "It might interest you to know that we have a visitor," he said pleasantly. "Woman, twenty-something, sandy hair. Standing like she wants to fly off a cliff. Also, she has crazy eyes."

Ben ran through his scant memories, tried for anything else that might be helpful. Also, not offensive, because he was about 90% sure that she was either A) behind him or B) could hear him.

"Oh," he said. "And she's the head librarians daughter."

Sam and Dean shoved past him, guns in hands. Cas followed, knives sliding out of his suit jacket's sleeves into his hands. With a jolt, Ben realized that he had a gun, too.

He didn't draw it, settling for running a finger along the edge of his silver knife. God, he was glad nobody had checked his pockets earlier. Well. He had been a federal agent. Ben guessed that didn't happen a lot to them.

Ben stepped back in, realized he still had that smile pasted on. It felt odd, both in and out of place. On one hand, this was most definitely a situation where looking fearful would be Bad. On the other hand, this wasn't the shop, and this wasn't Mrs. Masters, come back in to argue her price down. 

The head librarians daughter was still staring, though her posture had relaxed to something a little too at ease for the two guns and two knives and fake smile being pointed at her. 

"Hey, whippersnappers!" the girl grinned, winked, shot Sam with a finger gun. She faux frowned. "Too old?" 

Ben couldn't see Sam's face, but he was willing to be it was his favourite - the WTF? bitchface. 

The girl grinned again, this time with wilder abandon. "Hey, Sasquatch, Dean-o, little brother," she raised an eyebrow at Ben. Ben kicked the fake smile up another notch. "Fake Winchester."

"Hey!" pretty much everyone said, in unison. 

Dean levelled his gun on her. "Who are you?"

"What? Oh, Dean-o, I'm embarrassed for you. You don't recognize me?"

"No."

Ben moved up a step so he was abreast of the threatening man barricade. Dean looked a little overly threatening and dark for what he had to be. Sam mostly looked bitchface-y and annoyed and confused. Cas was plain old confused, regarding the woman with narrowed eyes and a tilted head. From the way Ben had been accidentally studying the angel, Ben thought he was focusing on the shreds of his Grace, trying to suss out the angelic possibility.

The woman chuckled. "Sammy boy? What about you? I would  _hope_  you'd know me. It isn't Tuesday, true, but..."

Oh, goodie. Was the girl making the suggestion Ben thought she was? He seemed to recall something about Gabriel being associated with Tuesday.

Apparently, Cas knew that too. "Gabriel is dead."

"Oh?" the girl snorted. "Was he? Or was his vessel? Was it even his vessel? He faked it once. What makes you think he couldn't fake it again?" Her eyes widened, and she tipped forwards, like she was telling them a secret. "What makes you think  _I_  am dead?"

 _I-I-I_  the Amy-thing shrieked in the back of his head, and Ben winced. Had he known about Gabriel? Had he come across and forgotten the books? Had his subconscious been telling him Gabriel was still alive in another body? How had his subconscious known? 

The real question, Ben reflected, wasn't that. It was  _Was Ben ever going to pay attention to what was going on in front of him?_

The woman was still grinning, and Sam's gun had listed to the side. Dean's gun was still pointed straight on, to the centre of the woman's chest. There was something dead in his eyes, something Ben thought wasn't going to show up again. 

"Huh," Dean said, the picture of nonchalance. "Guess you wouldn't mind if I shot you a couple times, then? Never seemed to bug you before. If a stake through the heart didn't do you in, I'm guessing bullets wouldn't either."

" _Dean!_ " Sam hissed. Dean half-turned, glared at his brother. Turned again, to look at Cas. Cas shook his head slightly, as if to say  _Not getting anything_ , but that was followed by a shrug that clearly meant  _But they could have shielded themselves, and my Grace isn't exactly at peak capacity._

Ben leant against Dean a little, jolting to get his attention. He cut eyes at his hand, dangling over his pocket.  _Hex. Bag._  he tried to say. 

Dean barely needed that glance. His eyes lightened a little with something to focus on other than shooting the woman. He lowered the gun, but only slightly. Enough to rest his arms so he had a good shot if something went downhill.

Now, if it really was Gabriel, he could- she could just teleport herself out. But if it was a witch, that witch wasn't going nowhere.

 _Double negative,_  Amy's voice said, with no small amount of exasperation. Ben almost rolled his eyes. 

"Whatever you say, man," Dean said easily. "Sure. Care to explain the hex bag we found at the scene of the chihuahua buffet?"

If the woman was a witch, she had spent enough money on acting lessons to pave a small country in gold. She guffawed, slapping her knee. "Hex bag? Dean-o, I grow even more disappointed. Have you ever heard of misdirection? Red herrings?" A wicked smile. "Wait, no, I forgot. All you watch is Doctor Sexy. Nothing interesting happening on  _that_  show."

"Funny, chucklehead." Dean said. "Why a hex bag?"

The woman shrugged, largely, carelessly. "You've said it yourself." Air quotes, and a truly horrific falsetto. "'I freakin' hate witches'."

Cas butted in. "Why not reveal yourself before now? Why hide in..." he looked around with disdain. "This small village. It doesn't seem adequate for someone with your attention span."

"That hurts, that hurts, Cassie. You pain me. You think I couldn't-"

Cas was no longer holding his knives. "No."

"Aw, c'mon, guys," Maybe-Gabriel said. "Not even a little faith in me?"

"No," Cas repeated.

"Ga-" Sam frowned. "Look, why are you here? Why now? Why make a big fuss and get us here? You should've known hunters would come looking."

Maybe-Gabriel snorted. "I was bored, Sasquatch. Nobody around to entertain me. Tuesdays came only once a week. What can I say? I missed your unique charm."

For the first time, the woman locked eyes with Ben. Ben's hand went for his pocket, for his knife, because there was something...  _off_  in her fanatic-bright grey eyes. Something not  _right_.

She raised a hand, casually, like she was going to flip her hair. But Ben caught the curls of light seeping through her fingers, the way her eyes narrowed with concentration.

She was pointing her hand at Dean. 

Even as Sam leapt forward and Dean ducked, Ben was faster. He lunged for her, meaning to knock her to the ground before that roil of green energy could fire at Dean. 

Everything spun, the fizzling crack of the green energy impacting the ceiling, dusting the room in plaster. The  _crack_  of a gunshot. Ben felt himself jolt twice.

Once, when he was hit, pain galvanizing him, everything in the room going crystal clear. Dean's horrified face. Sam, a foot away, reaching for them. Cas, looking more human than he'd ever seen him. 

Twice, when the fabric of reality warped and everyone was gone. Everyone but him and the Maybe-Gabriel.


	70. Pain & Fakes

Ben passed out. It was a bad habit of his, passing out at climactic moments. Now, in this case, he felt like he was 100% justified. He had just been teleported and shot. He was pretty sure the events even happened at the same time. It had been completely justifiable for his brain to check out.

So, of course, since Ben skipped all the interesting parts, he came to in a wave of pain.  _Payback_ , cackled a delirious corner of his mind. 

Ben groaned.

He didn't know how to quantify the pain in his side. It was burning hot, a combination of overexerted nerves and blood still spilling. Awful wet warmth trailed down his side, from the centre of the pain on his upper left all the way down to his legs, where the blood had pooled in the chair. Ben could feel every beat of his heart, speeding faster with every waking second and agonizing breath, beating hollowly in his chest and throbbing down his side. 

Ben tried dragging his eyes open, breath heaving, and that was when he felt the ropes pulling down at his chest. He coughed, tried to say something, but all that came out was a pitiful whine. 

 _Focus, Ben_ , the voice said. Dean's, gruff, no nonsense. Ben heaved another breath, pain stabbing his side.

 _Yeah, Braeden_ , Amy's voice now, left over from the week she'd been gone and Ben had tried so hard not to forget her. 

Dean again.  _Take it in. Where are you? Where are you hurt? Is anyone with you? You're only helpless if you let yourself be._

 _Make a collage of your memories_ , Amy said, sweet and sharp.  _Where were you? Where are you? How did you get there?_

Ben tried to ease his breathing, ease his heart. He closed his eyes, took stock of his body. For a second, all he could feel was agony, but he beat it down. Localized it. 

 _There_. A line of leaden pain, across the upper left of his chest. He pieced together his memories, heard the shot again, felt the pain. 

Well, he had to say, Dean was really skilled at bringing pain to Ben's life.

 _Rude, Benny boy. The poor man's trying his best._  Amy sighed in his head, and Ben made a face, shoved her aside. Having two voices in his head was a little much, even for him. 

Dean had shot him by accident, aiming for the witch. From what Ben could tell - and he wasn't exactly objective or a medical expert or anything - it was mostly just a flesh wound.

Ben had never understood that phrase. Wasn't everything technically a flesh wound? And the term 'flesh wound' seemed to bring up vibes of mildness, a scrape. Fine, by gun standards, this was a scrape (he thought), but this was by no measure  _mild_.

Ben gulped down another breath, forcing himself to keep breathing. It was harder than it should be, and he experienced a horrifying second of panic.  _Do I have a punctured_ _lung_ _?_

Objectivity meandered back over.  _Ben_ , it said tiredly,  _your lung isn't that far to the side of your chest. You might be going into shock. Calm thyself._

Ben tried for a more even breath, count in four, count out four. He remembered something he'd read about shock, vaguely.  _Stay calm. Slow breathing to normal pace. Make sure the subject isn't too hot or too cold._

He could deal with that. He could stay calm. He could breathe at a normal pace. It wasn't too hot or too cold in here.

Ben opened his eyes. Where  _was_  here? The instructions flooded back to him, take everything in. 

He was tied to the chair, hands bound behind his back, ropes around his middle. His feet, though, weren't tied, and he braced himself and scuffed them a little, to see if he could. Pain seared up his side, but he could.

Okay. So, he could theoretically kick a theoretical person if they came at him. Maybe. Unlike Amy, he had never been very flexible. He'd be able to kick low shin, at most. If they held still. And stood that close.

Actually, forget that. The person he would be theoretically kicking wasn't theoretical.

Maybe-Gabriel was sitting on a  _much_  more comfortable looking chair, head in her hands. Her carefully tousled hair had fallen into disarray. She, like Ben, was taking deep and even breaths. The wall behind her wasn't giving any sort of indications of where they were, being grey and nondescript as possible. The carpet was bereft of clues and existence, being only a creaky wood floor. 

"Hey," Ben croaked. The pain was getting easier to ignore. Or he was getting more lightheaded. Either/or. 

She startled upwards, eyes saucers. Something flickered across her face, too fast for Ben to catch. It wasn't smugness, though, or superiority or humour or what he'd expect to see. It was something on the opposite side of the spectrum. 

"Hey, fake Winchester. Had a good snooze?" The words were the perfect combination of nonchalance and snark, her face curling up in a smirk as she straightened, relaxed into the chair. But it felt off-kilter, somehow. 

Ben coughed, almost whimpered. "Not the greatest, no. I'm thinking that's because I got shot."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that, fake Winchester. Although that was a hundred percent Dean-o's fault." She examined her nails. 

Being called fake Winchester was making something twinge oddly in Ben's chest. He  _knew_  he wasn't Dean's actual, biological son, Dean had said that. He'd even remembered meeting his biological father, Jacob. But Dean felt like  _more_  than that. He meant more to Ben than just a meeting then a year, maybe four hundred days of adoptive or step fathering. He felt sort of like Ben's actual father. 

Maybe he felt like that because he never had a father. Maybe it was just the shock of the memories slowly filling themselves in. Whatever it was, being called 'fake Winchester' hit a nerve Ben hadn't thought was exposed. 

And Ben didn't like that. 

"Well," he pointed out. Reasonably. "I think he was actually aiming for  _you_ , not me." He took another breath. Stay calm. Breathe. An idea. "Fake Gabe."

Like Maybe-Gabriel had managed to accidentally hit a nerve with the 'fake Winchester', Ben had hit a freakin'  _huge_ nerve with the offhand 'fake Gabe' comment. He hadn't meant anything by it, just another failed comeback. Sam had said he had inherited that from Dean. 

"What, kid, you think I'm fake?" Maybe-Gabe was on her feet, her shoulders back so far Ben almost thought he could hear her collarbones creaking. There was no more of the relzed posture, the about-to-fly posture. This was attack, pure and simple. 

"Um," Ben said eloquently. "I don't know? Seeing as all I know about Gabriel is through Dean? You could be. Your story seems legit."

Ben didn't know if he was trying to convince himself or the woman that looked about to murder him. 

She dialled back the aggression visibly, shoulders clicking back into place, eyebrows lowering. "It's legit cause it  _is_  legit, bro."

It didn't escape Ben that she'd quit it with the fake Winchester nickname. Maybe she was worried Ben would fire it right back at her.


	71. Bandages & Shock

Ben hated to ask for anything, especially since Maybe-Gabriel was clearly mentally stabbing him with a rusty dagger. But he did remember that the most important thing about shock is to  _stop the bleeding_. He was already in a puddle of his own blood, having to gag over the scent of copper at every breath. 

"Hi," he said. Stopped. Decided to start his request better. "Sorry. I just, uh, don't function well when losing a lot of blood?"

Great. Off to a fabulous start. Why not keep going?

"And... Gabriel? If you wouldn't mind using like, point zero zero one percent of your power to heal me or, I dunno, stop me bleeding, I'd really like that. Also, I'm sure the Winchesters would appreciate, you know, me not being dead."

She shot him an unimpressed look. "Chill, bro. You aren't going to bleed out. They'll be here in like, half an hour, max."

"I've already bled out all over the chair," Ben said reasonably. "Another half an hour might not be the greatest. Also: I think I'm pretty close to going into shock." Or was in mild shock, judging by how freaked his brain was being. 

Ben was trying to convince himself he was imagining things, but judging by the way he was also  _literally_  imagining things like spots floating in the room, he wasn't being all that convincing. 

Maybe-Gabriel went back to sucking on a lollipop she'd produced from... somewhere. Ben took a stuttering breath, tossed his dignity out the window. He was sure Amy would retrieve it and beat him over the head with it.

"Could you... bandage it, then? Make the bleeding slow?" He swallowed. "Please?"

There must've been something pitiful in his eyes, because when she looked up, all she could do is sigh and put the lollipop down. "Fine. Jeez, drama queen. Calm your tits."

Ben couldn't find the vitriol to respond.

"If you try anything, buddy," she warned, wagging a finger, "your ass is getting knocked out. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Ben nodded. "Duh."

Okay, fine, he found the vitriol. He wouldn't want to disappoint Amy. 

Maybe-Gabriel rummaged around under her chair, pulled out a backpack, then proceeded to rummage through the bag and pull out an ace bandage and a wad of folded... something that Ben assumed was absorbent or some junk. 

Ben also realized that his train of thought wasn't exactly the most coherent thing, but really, he was amusing himself, so he wasn't going to do anything about it.

She had to stand in front of Ben and stare at him for a good thirty seconds, trying to figure out how to bandage him without also bandaging the chair he was tied to. Ben had zero sympathy, as she was 100% at fault for this situation and should really just untie him from the damn chair. What was he going to do in mild shock and likely-more-than-mild blood loss? Bleed on her?

She took a couple rolls of bandages, and proceeded to clumsily wrap them around Ben's torso. Ben mostly tried not to pass out as she jolted his body out from the chair and his side  _screamed_. 

He didn't scream, though, because he had no intention of getting his mouth duct taped shut. Maybe-Gabriel didn't look like the type to appreciate sudden loud noises. 

Finally, Maybe-Gabriel retreated to her spot and lollipop, leaving Ben  _still_ sitting in a pool of blood. At least he wasn't adding to it. 

Everything about this situation completely sucked.

Also, this was all Ben's fault. He could have let Dean be saved by Sam. They had tons of practice doing idiotic self sacrificing stunts, and tons of practice coming back from the dead. But nooooo, Ben jumped at crazy Gabriel lady to stop her from zapping Dean with some unknown spell and subsequently got shot and zapped to an unknown location and tied to a chair.

Really, this should have been Sam. Everybody in the room wished it had been Sam instead. Heck, Sam probably wished it had been Sam instead because Sam was nuts and and over protective of Winchesters, however fake. 

Also, Sam could probably cut the ropes with his fingernails or his mind or something. Or would've had multiple knives and better hidden knives.

Ben tried to clear his mind. He wasn't likely to go any further into shock. Okay. His memories were collaged into something cohesive, now. He knew he was in a room with Maybe-Gabriel and the rest of the hunting crew was on the way. Dean had shot him accidentally, and was likely angsting at his brother and angel while Amy either sat awkwardly or ate candy or tried to track Ben via teleportation. 


	72. Spell Books & Wish It Was Sam

"Thanks," he said. Eventually. Maybe-Gabriel was still nursing her lollipop. She didn't look up. "Why didn't you use your powers, though? I don't know much," anything "about angels, but it wouldn't have taken much power just to seal it. Isn't that easier than going through the whole drama with the bandages?"

 _Good_ , the Voice said. Dean. _Pay attention to the little things. Pay attention to what happens when you point out the little things._

She shrugged, a quick jerk of her shoulders, suddenly set in stone. "Spell's are a lotta work, man. You wanted to wait there for a good twenty minutes as I busted out the spell book?"

Spell book? Okay, Ben really didn't know anything about angels but he was 99.9% sure they didn't need spell books. Of course, Gabriel was a special little archangel snowflake. Who knew how many rules went out the window?

"Spell book? Don't you just..." he attempted to demonstrate Cas's forehead tap motion before realizing that yes, his hands were still tied. Also, his side hurt. "...tap their forehead or wound or something?"

Only one shoulder moved for this shrug. "I was pretty weak after someone kicked all the damn angels out of heaven. I was trying to chill up there but no, some bitch ass punk-"

"The angels got kicked out of heaven?" Ben didn't really get how that could happen. Not that he- actually, screw it, Ben was just going to apply a mental blanket disclaimer. He knew nothing about anything. Period.

"Yeah. Apparently they've all gone back, but how, I don't freakin' know." And man, if there wasn't some repressed self loathing in her tone. "Still trying to decide if I care. Got a nice cushy vessel down here." She gestured to herself, to the sandy hair, the shapely figure Ben had really been trying not to notice.

Ben smiled without humour.

"Right?" Sharp.

Ben could hear the command. "Yeah. Pretty. I uh..." don't know how to compliment people? Was that covered under the blanket idiocy statement? "...like the hair."

She grinned, her first real expression all night. "I know, right?"

Ben grimaced/smiled again. Maybe-Gabriel resumed sucking on her lollipop.

But Ben had never been all that intelligent. He still felt like he was excused, though. He was practically in shock and drunk on pain and all that good stuff. "Is that why you chose that vessel? The hair?"

Gone was the relaxation. Nervous tension thrummed through the air, almost as strong as the evil that had oozed from the king of hell. "Nah. Just a good place to crash. Permanently, I guess. My old vessel went,"

She made a kablooey motion. With an accompanying soundtrack. Ben winced.

"Yeah." She nodded sympathetically.

Ben winced again. This time, it was because he had decided it would be a good idea to actually take a breath worth breathing and his side decided that no, breathing was not good. "Ow, sorry. I just... why spells? Why was there a hex bag?"

"Why not? Why bother with idiotic leave-traces-everywhere angelic magic when you can just dig up a couple bones and, shazam, murderous chihuahuas!"

Oh, good. Ben loved knowing he had bones in his pockets. It made the day so much better. But he had to admit she had a point. Cas had his feelers out for angelicness, and hex bags hadn't triggered it.

 _Or she's a flipping lying witch, Bib_ , Amy said.

 _I thought I said I was having a hard enough time with just Dean's voice in my head?_  Ben fired back, sighed. Arguments with his own mind. Great. He was adding that to the "shock hallucinations" category. Good excuse as any.

Then another thought hit him. "Wait. So, you're just taking that vessel's life? Taking over her life?" That had always bothered him, with the angels. They just swept away the life of the vessel? Threw it out? Someone's hopes and dreams and loves and life, trashed in an instant. It had bothered him so much that he'd asked Dean about Cas. More accurately, who Cas's body was.

It had been only mildly reassuring to know that Jimmy Novak was gone. That he had time to go back and make the choice again. A little better again when Dean had told him that the man's soul was likely in heaven. A little worse when Jimmy had a daughter and a wife out there, wondering where he had gone. How could an angel, an archangel, take another's life? Why couldn't she have just tried harder to hold onto the vessel she already had instead of ruining someone else's life.

Weren't angels supposed to be  _angelic_?

Maybe-Gabriel looked like she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie drawer. "Yes- no- sort of. She's still here," a tap of the skull with her lollipop. Somehow, she was surprised that her hair got stuck to it. "I still have all her memories. I'd almost feel like her, if I didn't know I was Gabriel."

That wasn't exactly consistent with what Ben was learning of angels. But again, archangel here. The rules were likely less than a line of chalk of pavement. They might not notice they were there in the first place.

Ben wondered if he was trying to make sense of this or justify it to himself.

"But she's not in control? She has no say in what you do?" Ben tried for a slightly deeper breath. His side groaned.

"She's not important, okay? I'm Gabriel! I'm in control! I'm an archangel and I can do what I want!" Maybe-Gabriel wasn't just mad. She had skipped the 'irritated' and 'angry' stages and took a bazooka ride straight to fury.

Ben tried not to cringe deeper into the pool of blood. His wound throbbed with every tiny movement. Ben almost wanted to pass out so this whole experience would just be over.

Maybe-Gabriel practically threw herself out of her chair, stalked to the other side of the room, all grace gone. She just looked like an angry, broken girl. Her hands pressed against the wall on either side of her head, and Ben could hear her controlled breathing from his chair.

"I wish it was fricking Sam here, like it was supposed to be." she whispered. She didn't look at Ben. He didn't think he was supposed to hear her. "Stupid fake Winchester. Stupid little boy ruining everything."

Ben wished it was Sam too. Sam wouldn't have gotten shot.


	73. Rescuers & A Mistaken Identity

Ben didn't pass out this time. It would probably be bad if the cavalry arrived and Ben was waiting, damsel in distress. He wanted to at least get the full impact of Amy (or Sam or Dean or Cas, to be honest) punching Maybe-Gabriel in the face. Or possibly a standoff and lectures. He couldn't decide which would be better payback.

As it turned out, Ben didn't much have to worry about it. Within ten minutes of Maybe-Gabriel going back to sulking in her chair as opposed to at the wall, footsteps rattled out. Something about the hallway (Ben assumed) outside, was channelling the sounds straight to the room where he and his kidnapper sat.

Dean and Sam and Cas and Amy (Ben could identify four separate footsteps. How, he didn't know, but he also didn't care.) weren't exactly being subtle about their impeding crusade, either. That probably helped. 

Her eyes went fever-bright at the sound. She was on her feet before Ben could take another tortured breath, with a gun Ben hadn't seen before in her hand. 

The gun was pointed at his head, because Ben's day really needed a sledgehammer down from rock bottom. 

Ben sighed. Ribs. Ow. 

He hadn't realized how far they were from the door until it crashed open, Dean in front, dark eyes wild. Sam was next in, the room shrinking as his enormous frame filled in all the nooks and crannies in the walls and Maybe-Gabriel's personality. Cas was in the door, but Amy shoved him out of the way, barrelling into the room, hair standing practically on end and eyes wild.

"Everyone against the wall! Or he gets a new ventilation to match the other one."

Ben tried to look less in pain because Dean's eyes were truly horrible. He tried to smile, and he was pretty sure he succeeded. "I'm  _fine_." he said. "She's being dramatic."

Dean's awful sad eyes drifted down to the pool of blood at Ben's butt, the blood soaked shirt, the ginormous bandage. Amy's eyes followed, and her hands twitched like she either wanted to pull her hair out or strangle Maybe-Gabriel or both. Something glinted, and Ben's jaw nearly dropped. There were  _three_  angel blades in the room. Cas, who was lined up beside Dean on the wall, knives held at the ready. And one in Amy's palm, clenched in white fingers.

Well, at least one of them was having a good day. 

"And drop your weapons, boys," she said. "All of them. Unload the guns, the knives."

Dean was  _not_  pleased. Nor was Sam. Or Cas. Amy didn't toss anything down, settling for smiling gormlessly at the other girl. It was frightening, mostly because Ben knew the mask would fall and hell would break loose. He just hoped that he wouldn't end up dead in the process. That would suck. 

Sam was the only one with a reasonable head. "Can we at least untie him? He isn't exactly going anywhere at the moment."

True. Ben felt more likely to keel over and pass out (again) than be able to run or wield a gun or knife or other fun object. 

Maybe-Gabriel snorted. "And have one of you buffoons get close enough to disarm me? Come on, Sasquatch, how dumb do you think I am?"

 _Very_ , said bitchface Sam. Amy's hand twitched again but the knife was gone. Ben frowned. Had it been there at all, or was he just imagining things?

Amy's face wasn't giving him any clues. It was more closed than usual, her eyes warring with something... off. Not like Dean, where it looked like all the terrible things in the world had found a way to look out at Ben through glassy green, but like Amy wasn't quite under her own control. 

Ben shivered  _she's not the only one in here, haven't you been paying attention?_ , ropes biting and side screaming. Again. This would be getting old if it wasn't excruciating pain.

"I'm more likely to pass out then attack you," Ben informed the gun wielding lady. "What, are they going to pick me up and use me as a battering ram?"

"Don't tempt me." Amy muttered. Ben glared, caught a swallowed smile. He snorted.

"Fine, fine, fine," Maybe-Gabriel sighed. Jerked her chin at Amy, all of her earlier devil-may-care-cause-I-don't grace making an abrupt comeback. "Your girlfriend can untie you-"

" _Excuse me_?" Amy sputtered.

"but no sudden moves, kiddie."

Amy was still in utter shock, jaw hanging lower than Ben thought was anatomically possible. Everything but amusement and horror had fled from her eyes. "What?

"Fake Winchester's girlfriend? You? Yes? You can untie him. Slowly. Stay on his other side."

 _Girlfriend_ , Amy mouthed.  _Girlfriend_.

Ben rolled his eyes.


	74. Ace Jokes & Promises

Amy was still shaking her head as she walked over, hunkered down on his other side. 

"Ouch," she said, with feeling. 

"Yeah, I know."

"Oh, pff, Braeden. Still just a flesh wound." She started to saw at the ropes with her angel blade. So Ben  _hadn't_  imagined it. 

"Well, it's a painful flesh wound," Ben complained. "Because I  _got shot_."

"Oh, believe me," Amy, as the ropes snapped. Ben hauled his arm forward even through it felt like he was stabbing his side repeatedly with a rusty knife. "We all know. Dean has been freaking out the entire way here."

She shot him a Look. "Ben, is there something up with Dean? I mean, more than the usual 'I-am-a-Winchester-I-have-manpain' front. There's... There's something in his eyes."

Ben tried to look normal: like he knew absolutely nothing. The strange scar on Dean's arm. The whole possessed-by-a-demon-only-not-only-worse. He had his suspicions. His mother's religious obsession hadn't been entirely centred on angels. 

Amy sighed. "Fine, Benny boy. Don't tell me."

"Look, I don't  _know_ -"

"Isn't this great fun?" Maybe-Gabriel nearly shouted. Ben's head snapped over. She was still brandishing a gun at Ben, and the Winchesters and co. we're still against the wall. They still looked positively murderous. 

Amy was muttering quietly as she undid the bandage. "Shoddy job.  _No_ , you can't come out and play. Busy." She poked his arm. Whispered. "Ben! I assume you'd love me forever and be in great debt if I healed you?"

Ben nodded fervently. 

"Ha! Alright then. I'll bandage it again after so I don't look like a threatening angel, okie dokes?"

Ben nodded again. 

Her palm pressed on his side and  _ow_ _,_  pain, agony. But then it was like an ice pack, soothing. Ben's side itched and tugged and Ben could take a heaving deep breath again. 

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it. At least until you owe me a sundae." Amy went back to untangling the bandages. "Ha! It's ironic that I'm bandaging you with an ace bandage, isn't it? Actually, any bandage I apply is technically an ace bandage."

"What?" Ben waited. Amy just continued tying the bandage around his no longer painful side. He wondered if it would scar. "I don't get it."

"For heavens sake Braeden now is  _not_  the time."

"Amy seriously," because she was still laughing to herself, "what's funny?"

"Be quiet, fake Gabe is talking."

"Fake Gabe? Amy-"

"Shh!"

Maybe-Gabriel was indeed talking, though Ben was finding it hard to concentrate even though the pain was gone. He had no idea if Amy had replaced any of his blood. At least he didn't feel quite as shock-y. 

The feeling of missing what Amy seemed to think was a clever pun had replaced the shock. Ben couldn't decide which was more irritating. 

"Haven't you missed this?" she was asking the Winchesters. "The thrill of the chase. Being outsmarted-"

"No," Dean growled. "And you can stop spouting shit. You're not Gabriel."

"Duh." Amy said, at the same time as Maybe-Not-Gabriel shrieked with rage: "What? No!"

Ben slid her a side look. 

"I mean, I am Gabriel. Clearly. Munchkins."

Her voice reeked of desperation. Not confidence. Her scoff was as much a panicked breath as it was a dismissal. 

Amy sighed deeply and stood. Her hands were empty again. Sam snapped his head to look at them, hair fanning out and said " _Get down!_ "

Amy didn't wait for Ben to maybe respond, throwing herself at him. He crashed out of the chair, crumpled to the floor with Amy spread eagled over him like she was trying to be his human shield. Which, to be fair again, was probably a pretty great idea because Ben could hear the bullet whizzing above him right where he had been. 

 _That_  wouldn't have been fun. Ben was as aerated as he wanted to be, thanks. 

Then Maybe-Gabriel wasn't the only one with a gun, clearly, because Ben had to screech unattractively and roll out from Amy because Dean was storming in with a gun in his hand and dangerous eyes. Sam, too, had weapons, and then Ben wasn't in the damn room anymore.

"Amy!" he hissed. But then she was gone, too.

Ben turned in circles, searching the uniform darkness for any sign of life.  _There_. A lamp next to a door at the end of the hall.

Ben jumped back when the door rattled and he realized, crap, that was where the fight was going down. Amy had removed him because he was useless without a weapon and still possibly woozy and wounded. 

Ben took offence at that. He could do... something. And plus, by the increase in the amount of  _hitting_  sounds and lack of  _gun_  sounds, he wasn't all that likely to get shot. Again. It was easier than one would think to run out of ammo. 

Ben yanked the lamp out of the wall and opened the door. Sam was restraining Maybe-Gabriel, Dean was on the other side of the room, taking deep breaths and it looked like his gun had been confiscated. Cas was holding Dean's gun, pacing back and forth a couple feet from him. Surprisingly, Amy was also in the corner taking deep breaths. There were no less than thirteen bullet holes in the wall.

"Late to the party much, Braeden?" Amy said, straightening enough to grin evilly. 

Ben dropped the lamp like a hot potato. 

Amy snorted. "Nice try, Benny boy, but I don't think that would have been much use. Did you enjoy your vacation?"

"Oh, shut it, you're the one that zapped me out."

Before Ben could further tell Amy that it was actually all  _her_  fault, Dean's arms were around him, solid and warm and smelling like gunpowder. 

"Don't ever do that again," Dean told him, still not letting go. "I can take care of myself, Ben. I always do this. Don't  _jump_  at a witch just because you see something going wrong. Sam was on it-"

Were they really having this conversation while hugging in the middle of a catastrophe. Okay. Ben couldn't begrudge Dean someone to hold onto. "Sam wouldn't have gotten there in time, Dean. And I'm fine."

Dean clapped his back, stepped away. His eyes weren't as awful now, but Ben just wanted to go back to hugging him until they were back to normal. 

"Promise me you won't do that again."

Ben thought about that. He didn't think he was ever going to be confronted by a crazy possibly archangel about to kill his possibly father with possibly a witchy spell as his possibly father's brother was moving too slowly to stop him. With his possibly angelic best friend there. It was safe to promise. "Fine. I promise."


	75. Gabriella & I Am

"Dean?"

They both turned to Sam, looking about as bitchfacey as he could. Maybe-Gabriel was struggling valiantly, but she wasn't getting anywhere.

Dean closed his eyes for a fraction of a second longer than a blink, made his way to his brother. Ben stayed where he was because he had no idea what to do with himself. It was just hitting him that he'd brought a lamp to a gunfight. 

"Who are you?" Dean growled at Maybe-Gabriel, and Ben could see her flinch and gulp. 

"I- I'm Gabriel. I told you."

Ben raised his eyebrows as he moved to a better vantage point. It felt funky that his side wasn't killing him, seeing all the blood on the chair and floor. There was a  _lot_  of blood. 

"She's the librarians daughter," Ben said quietly. He was glad it really was that girl, because he still couldn't reconcile angels and stealing lives. Call him old fashioned. Call him moral. Whatever it was, Ben didn't like this new take on angels.

They were dicks.

 _Fluffy winged asshats_.

Ben nearly laughed.

She shot him a look full of venom, but it was diluted somewhat from her harmless position in Sam's arms. 

"Thanks, Ben." To her. "Your  _name_?"

"Gabriel!"

A phone rang, freezing the whole room in their tracks. Ben went for his pocket, even though he knew his phone had been confiscated. His hand hit bones, and he shuddered. Sam shook his head over the girl's head, and Dean looked confused.

Ben turned to see Amy guilty slip a phone out of her pocket, silver wolf gleaming.  _Garth_ , she mouthed. "I'm just gonna..." she gestured to the door. "Be back. Sorry."

She slunk out. Ben stared at the door for a second, the urge to eavesdrop nearly overpowering. But Sam and Dean went back to their regularly scheduled interrogation and there was no way Ben was going to miss out on this information. 

"Gabriella," she said. "Fine. It's Gabriella. But what difference does that make? Just because I'm a  _girl_ -"

"Look," Ben said, because he figured he would be the politest of the remaining group. Cas was studying Maybe-Not-Gabriel like his life depended on it. Homicidally depended on it. "It's not that you're a girl. It's that you're not exactly as advertised on TV."

She scowled, and Ben took that as his clue to forge ahead. "You're not Gabriel, Gabriella. He's dead. You've killed people in his name. And you're not an angel."

Cas seemed to have finished his study and come up with results. "A natural born witch, it seems. You don't have any traces of Gabriel's Grace." He puzzled for another second. "Or any Grace, for that matter."

Her face crumpled like a paper bag. "N-no. That's not true. I'm him. When he fell, right? When all the angels fell?"

Stony looks all around. 

"I am. I know I am. How else was I able to give those people their just desserts? Humans aren't magical.  _Supernatural_  told me that they got their powers from demon deals. I haven't made any demon deals! I could just... do the spells!"

"Natural born witch," Sam repeated. "it's rare, but it's not unheard of. There was these two witches that raised Samhain - they certainly were older than they could've gotten with the ten year deal."

"And a couple of pissy witches that we had to marriage counsel," Dean added. "Man, the heads that rolled in that town."

Sam shot him a look that very clearly said  _Not. Helping._

"Anyway!" Ben said, before Sam and Dean could outdo each other on grisly witch stories. "It's possible." And he caught her eyes, dull and starting to fill with tears. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "For what it's worth."

If Amy was here, Ben got the feeling he'd be getting hit upside the head and reminded that this witch had nearly  _killed him_. As it was, Sam and Dean looked like they were tempted. Ben was glad Cas was too busy staring at Dean with concern to actually start hitting Ben for his idiocy. 

She gave him a watery smile. "For what it's worth," she said. "I won't do it again."

And her hand twitched and Ben still lunged. But again, he was just a little too slow. She had warped out of view. Ben didn't know if she was invisible or just  _gone_ , but whichever it was, she wasn't there anymore.

"Where did she go?" Dean roared. Cas put a hand on his shoulder. Sam started flailing around like he was trying to pin a tail on an invisible donkey.

The door creaked open, Amy stuffing her phone back in her pocket. "Hey," she said sheepishly. "Did I miss anything?"

Ben snorted. "A  _little_."

"Really? Did you figure out that you shouldn't bring a lamp to a gunfight?"

Ben winced. "I was improvising."

"Clearly."

"No but seriously, that lady? She wasn't Gabriel."

"Oh," Amy said, unimpressed. "I know."

Ben frowned. "What?"

Her eyes flashed that odd blue for the first time in ages, that too-light too-bright split second of unnatural colour. Power pulsed through the room like an explosion, and Ben could almost  _feel_  the change, the click from one mind to another. 

"I know," Not-Amy said again. "I am."


	76. ALIVE & PARTYING

Ben didn't even have a chance to parse that before a shot rang out and Amy- No. Not Amy. Gabriel. Gabriel was holding Amy's hand up like a diva, a bullet caught in the palm of her hand. "Good reflexes, Dean-o. I'm so proud of you."

Ben's jaw dropped, and so did his stomach.  _Amy_.

"Gabriel," Cas said, and it was the Not-Gabriel standoff all over again. Only this time, it was actually Gabriel. And it was Amy.

"Castiel. How're you doing, little bro?" And even though it was Amy, Ben could see her standing right in front of him, the dyed streaks in her hair, the bright grey eyes... It wasn't her. He couldn't label it, but it wasn't Amy anymore.

It was awful.

But then it was over. Before Cas had a chance to respond, the power pulsed again, her eyes went that preternatural blue, and Amy popped back into herself. "-didn't make- whoa."

She dropped her arm to her side. Blinked a few times. "What the hell? Did I just black out?" She shot Ben a suspicious look, like this was all  _his_  fault. Ben thought that was unfair. Then she looked at her hand. "What the...? Is this a bullet? Why am I holding a bullet?"

This time Dean got the suspicious look, which was deserved. He was still pointing his gun at her and breathing hard. She raised an eyebrow. "Could you not?"

"Amy," Ben said. "I, uh, think we know what's going on with you."

She raised her other eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

"Um," Ben said. Scratched his head. "You're. Um. Gabriel?"

Her eyes flashed blue, and it was black and white, Amy and Gabriel. Ben couldn't  _believe_  he hadn't seen it earlier, when Gabriel had said hi on his way to candy and checking in on Amy. "No, actually, MiniDean. That would be  _me_.  _I'm_  Gabriel."

Snap back to Amy, blinking confused and angry. "Okay, that was  _funky_ \- Braeden, what are you laughing at?"

Ben was doubled over in helpless laughter, all but slapping his knee. "You're  _Gabriel_." he said, between bouts of laughter. "All this time, you could've just gone,  _Hey, that's not Gabriel! You know how I know? I AM GABRIEL!_  Your timing is horrible!"

Amy scowled. "Well, I didn't know, okay?"

 _Flash_. Gabriel, and again Ben was struck with how  _different_  they were. And how  _wrong_  they had been with Gabriella. She was a copy of a copy of a copy. She was delusional.  _This_  was an archangel. This was the devil-may-care-cause-I-don't. 

"Well, yeah, that's fair," Gabriel said, around a lollipop that this time, actually  _had_  appeared out of nowhere. "It isn't a full on possession. I just said, 'Hey, Amy-Angel, lets trade! I'll help you if you help me!' and she went 'Aargh!', but in an affirmative way, and  _shazam_ ," Gabriel slapped Amy's chest. "She had a freeloader and wasn't dead!"

Ben stared. Vaugely, he could tell that Sam was trying to convince Dean not to shoot Gabriel and Cas not to stab Gabriel. 

"Sorry, am I using big words?" Gabriel offered a grin, toothier than Amy's. "Amy say sort-of-yes. Gabriel get new crash pad."

"But like," Ben wanted to hit his head against the wall. He had too much adrenaline to deal with this. "Amy used powers?"

Gabriel wasn't there. Ben swore and turned in time to see Gabriel throw Amy's arms in the air and declare "IT'S PARTY TIME!". 

A disco ball dropped down onto Ben's head, sending him sprawling and blinking frantically as the room attacked him with disco party — deafening music in what seemed to be Swedish, and no less than four disco balls swinging crazy and spraying dazzling lights in his eyes. Dean was swearing loudly somewhere as Ben climbed to his feet, shaking his head like that'd clear the music out of his ears. 

Cas kept making advances on Gabriel, whether to talk or stab, Ben didn't know, but Gabriel was too busy cackling and manifesting chocolate bars to throw (at everyone: Ben nearly had a heart attack when he got beaned by a Skor) and making faces at Sam. Who, needless to say, had moved straight from surprised to pissed. Bitchface Ugh was out in full regalia. 

Then it was Amy again and she was in front of Ben and she was  _not_  impressed. She was twisting her hair into a rope again and Ben wished he could hit Gabriel without hitting Amy because this was a bit much for her. She'd never said it flat out, but he knew that one of the worst things that could happen to Amy was her losing herself. She'd killed her parents under the possession of a demon and now she was blacking for a moment to find a bullet in her hand, a gun pointed at her face, and an impromptu disco party raging around.

Ben offered a smile, shouted over the music. " _Got any conditions?_ "

"What?" Her hands were shaking, but Ben knew it wasn't fear. Her eyes were too angry for that. 

"Any conditions? An hour a day? What he can't do to you?" Ben had been thinking on the whole angel thing for a while now. He figured if Amy hadn't given over a concrete  _Yes_ , that was why she kept blasting back into herself. She was fighting Gabriel. 

Amy made a little  _Oh_  sound. Then grinned. "He's got fifteen minutes. Then it's me until tomorrow. Tell him that next time-"

And then it was Gabriel again, eyes flashing. Ben caught Gabriel's arm before she disappeared, yanked her to face him. "Listen!" he shouted. "You've got fifteen minutes. That's it."

Understanding dawned, and it wasn't just about the time limit. Gabriel looked... guilty. "Whoops. Yeah. Tell Amy-Angel I'll make sure she doesn't have to see any of it."

Ben nodded and let go, letting Gabriel go full tilt into Winchester taunting mode. She was throwing candy bars at Dean like there was no tomorrow and Sam looked like he was just going to let Dean murder her to make the music  _go away_. Cas kept making swings at Gabriel, but Gabriel was never there.

Ben sighed. 


	77. Fifteen Minutes & Grace

It took a good ten of Gabriel's fifteen minutes to get her to calm down enough to actually you know, talk. Not that Gabriel was talking very clearly, what with the perennial candy-in-mouth thing. 

"Five minutes," Ben said pointedly. Tapped his phone. 

Gabriel scowled through what Ben was pretty sure was Skor crumbs. "I got it, MiniDean."

"Four minutes, fifty four seconds."

Another scowl. Another Skor. "Aw, c'mon."

Ben didn't lessen his pointed stare.

Gabriel sighed, gulped down the last of her chocolate. "Fine. You guys are  _boring_."

Dean looked like he wanted to contest that statement with the nearest weapon, but a glare from Sam kept him in check. Dean took a deep breath. 

"I survived, hello, and we should go back to the party."

"No," Cas grumbled. "You need to give us more than that."

"Yeah," Sam said, taking his eyes off Dean long enough to glare at Gabriel. "You can't just leave it like that. How  _did_  you survive? Lucifer killed you. Five years ago."

"Lu-" Ben started. Gave up. Great. Lucifer. Why think that was out of the ordinary?

Gabriel snorted, flipped Amy's hair like he was in a shampoo commercial. It was mildly offputting. "As if I'd die that easily, Sasquatch. I just got a little... sidetracked."

"Five years and a new vessel sidetracked?" Ben couldn't resist. "That sounds like you got derailed."

"Five years and a new life," Gabriel parroted. Shoved an entire Turkish Delight in her mouth. "Sounds like  _you_  got derailed."

Ben couldn't speak. Ouch. How did Gabriel know...? Right. Archangel. Special get-under-your-skin powers. 

"That wasn't his fault," Dean said. Ben looked over, caught his eyes. The darkness seemed to have cleared up some, but Dean still looked like he wanted to hit Gabriel over the head with something substantial. "That was mine.  _Your_  death was your fault."

"Actually," Gabriel said, with Amy's eyebrow higher than Ben had ever seen it. For once, she'd paused on the candy. "That was your fault too. Who's side was I fighting on in that war? Luci's? Oh! Right! I was on the Winchester's side!"

Sam winced. "Well, you didn't technically  _die_ -"

"I totally died," Gabriel glanced both ways, leaned in like it was some sort of great secret. "And get this — I went to  _heaven_!"

"Gabriel," Cas sounded even more exasperated than usual. "Angels do not go to heaven when they die."

Gabriel sat back and shrugged with grandeur. A Mars bar appeared in her palm, and she went to work on the wrapper. "Hey, little bro, I'm just saying the truth. I didn't make it happen."

Nobody in the room looked all that convinced. The disco balls spun overhead, lights still flashing psychotically. At least the Swedish death metal disco was off. 

"So," Sam leaned back too, and Ben was irritated that Sam was pretty much as tall as he was when Sam was  _sitting down._  He'd taken Gabriella's chair, leaving Gabriel Ben's blood-soaked chair. If it had been a power trip, it hadn't worked, because Gabriel just zapped the blood off with a flick of Amy's fingers. "You were in heaven? Healing or resting or whatever? Until, what, the angels fell and you got kicked out?"

Gabriel grinned, stuffed another bite of Mars bar in her mouth. "Bingo! Give the sasquatch ten points! My vessel was still in no shape to be carrying my awesome self around, so I dumped it in the ICU, donated a few million, and went in search of another. A  _special_  vessel." She wiggled her eyebrows at Cas. 

"Those went extinct," Cas was almost adorably confused, like a puppy. "About thirty years ago. The Grace lineage died out."

 _Grace_. Amy's last name was Grace. Man, she was going to get a kick out of this in — Ben checked his phone. Two minutes. "Two minutes left, Gabe."

Gabriel pouted. Crunched the rest of her lollipop off the stick, flung the plastic into a corner. "Don't call me  _Gabe_."

"Gabe," Dean and Ben said in unison. They grinned at each other.

"Oh, so mature," Gabriel grumbled. "Truly spectacular, Deans. You should get an award."

Sam cleared his throat, even though he looked like wanted nothing more than to burst out laughing. "Special vessels? The Grace lineage?"

Gabriel waved him off. "Blessed by God to be great vessels, heal you up, restore your Grace. Mostly a myth, unless you looked in the right places. Unfortunately for Amy-Angel here, I wasn't the only one looking. Demons love 'em too."

Her brother. Her brother was possessed by a demon. Ben leaned forward, time forgotten. "Demons?"

"Yeah, yeah. Almost had to boot a demon out of her. Nasty little hell scum." Gabriel was going at a lollipop again. Amy hated grape.

Ben swallowed hard. "Look, Gabriel. The demon's in her brother. What does the Grace lineage do to demons?"

Gabriel stopped. "Well... we've got a problem, duckies. The Grace lineage gives the demon extra powers. Most demons don't get the fling-you-at-a-wall power. Only the important ones — or stuck up ones — but yeah, after a month in a Grace vessel you get a bit  _too_  much self-important."

Ben didn't know much, but he  _did_  know that it had been more than a month that the demon had been chilling in Tate. "At what point do they get the teleportation?"

She resumed crunching the lollipop with aggression. "Six months? It hasn't been six months, has it?"

Ben shook his head. Unease rippled. He didn't know. He actually didn't know. He didn't know how long it had been since Amy had become a hunter, since she'd been possessed, since her brother swanned off with a demon in tow. "Four? Five? But not six."

"Well, that's great." Gabriel said, and Amy didn't sulk, but if her face did, that was the expression exactly. "Looks like you've got a problem, muchachas. Such a shame I won't be around for it."

"What?" This time it was Dean. His voice was somewhere between relief and irritation. "Dude-"

Gabriel held her hands up in surrender. "Amy-Angel makes the rules. And plus, I am  _supposed_  to be resting. I'm not full powered yet. I want to get back to my  _own_  vessel, as nice as Amy-Angel is." A glance at Ben. "How long?"

He didn't bother looking down. "Say your last farewells. Gabe. Probably around thirty seconds."

Gabriel huffed and rolled Amy's eyes. "Nice, real nice, MiniDean." Standing, he stretched out Amy's back and neck, and Ben heard popping he was really hoping wasn't breaking bones. "Smell ya later, Dean-o, MiniDean. Don't knock yourself out on any doorways, Sasquatch. Castiel..." she sighed. "Get a new suit. You look homeless."

And she turned back to Ben, and smiled. "Tell Amy-Angel I'm sorry. And that we can talk later, if she wants."

Gabriel saluted, and that power pulsed through the room again, Amy's eyes flashing too-bright too-blue and then it was just Amy again. 

"Gabriel says hi," Ben said needlessly. "Also, that you can talk later. Also, you're a really special snowflake."

Amy stared at him for a second before that clicked in, and she snorted. "I knew that, Braeden. Tell me something new."

Ben kicked her in the shin. 

 


	78. Awkward Road Trips & Odd Memories

The drive back to the bunker was even more awkward than that first cross-country trip with Amy. Sam and Dean and Cas kept shooting her odd looks as if they thought she was going to suddenly Gabe up and start shooting them with fireworks or something. 

Amy had fallen asleep on Ben's shoulder. She was  _exhausted_  after Gabriel's disco party. That was something Ben was going to need to  _talk_  to Gabriel about. He couldn't just go around flinging his power willy-nilly. Whether he realized it or not, he was in Amy, and he was using her super-duper vessel skillz to power his ridiculous party. If Amy was at full strength - or even normally tired - she never would've fallen asleep on someone. 

At least she hadn't slumped over onto Cas. The angel almost seemed scared of Amy. Sam had called shotgun after a quick argument "Who knows how to read a map? Sorry, Cas." "What about a GPS?" "Not in  _my_  car, buddy." and was busy talking softly to Dean. Ben had been indoctrinated into nosiness and politeness, so he went back and forth from trying to ignore them and trying to catch every whisper. 

So far, Amy had drooled on his shoulder, Cas seemed to be playing read-the-liscence-plates, and Sam had mentioned an ominous 'Mark' no less than three times. 

They had also mentioned 'hamburger' no less than five times, but Ben didn't think that was as relevant. Dean was on a health kick and clearly was having cravings.

Ben knew they were heading back to the bunker, but he didn't know what they were going to be doing once they got back. Sam and Dean would probably angst at each other and try not to strangle Gabriel. Cas, now that the whole 'Gabriel Alert' had turned into Gabriella with bonus Amy!Gabe, was going to head back to heaven. 

Ben was guessing that the second Gabriel healed up enough to get back to his own vessel, he would have Cas and the rest of the heavenly garrison hovering over his shoulder. Served him right. He  _wa_ _s_ an archangel, regardless of whatever ridiculousness he did on the side. 

Amy didn't snore, thank god, Ben thought as he tried to reach his water bottle without waking her. That would have made the trip even more unbearable than it already was. Snoring and road trips was about the most irritating combo there ever was. Period.

Ben managed to splash a good quarter of his water bottle in his hair as Dean hit a bump at full speed. He sighed. Said quietly: "Dean, there are speed limits for a  _reason_ , you know. Like the quality of the roads."

On cue, they hit another pothole, Amy's head jumping up enough to clock Ben on the chin. Miraculously, she didn't wake up. 

Dean slowed down. Fractionally.

Silence reigned for the next ten miles. Ben was keeping track. Not like there was much else to do. 

"You know," Ben said philosophically. "I just wonder what the odds are."

Sam looked at him through the mirror. "For what?"

"For the one friend I make to turn out to be an archangel. Oh, and finding out about you guys after what, five years? If Cas hadn't done a shoddy job - no offence - I might not even have remembered the whole ghost-and-salt thing."

"Children have... odd memories." Cas said, very pointedly watching the nearest car go by. The licence plate read GIRLZZZ.. "I thought the memories would stay suppressed."

Ben grinned. "Hey, I'm not complaining. This has been totally great."

"Besides you being an idiot," Amy said, and Ben nearly jumped out of his skin. She was awake, but she wasn't budging. Her eyes weren't even open. "But I suppose you would've been like that regardless."

"Hey!" Ben protested, but he was still grinning. "Who killed Exelharberd?  _Me_."

He could tell she was rolling her eyes, even though she hadn't opened them yet. He was pretty sure she was in denial about being awake. "Sure, Benny boy. And who killed all those gigantic homicidal ravens so that you could get close enough?"

Ben went  _pffff_. "Whatever. I killed Mr. Moriarty!"

"...with my knife after I glued his face to the wall with a devils trap."

Ben went  _pffff_  again. "Details."

Ben could tell that Sam was trying not to laugh at them. Dean wasn't even going that far. He was grinning with abandon, which was perhaps the best thing Ben had seen today. It certainly beat out the psycho fake angel and the psycho real angel.

Amy hauled her head up off Ben's shoulder to fix him with an amused glare. "Braeden, you were literally the damsel in distress today, so don't  _even_."

He scowled. Opened his mouth. 

" _Lamp_  to a  _gunfight_ , Bib."

He shut his mouth, sulked. Sam was flat out laughing now, as was Dean. Even Cas looked amused. 

"You guys all suck," Ben said petulantly. "You're being unfair."

Amy settled back onto his shoulder, closed her eyes. It was almost comforting, knowing she trusted him enough to fall asleep on his shoulder. Bit of a change from Whirlwind Amy that crashed through his door, bowled him over, and informed him that his neighbour was a demon. 

It  _was_  an impressive entrance, he had to give her that.

Amy grinned as she twitched one last time, getting comfortable. "Whatever you say, princess."

"Hey!"

Amy's breathing was starting to even out when something hit Ben so hard he nearly jolted.

_Gabriel. Archangel._

He resisted the urge to shake her awake, turning instead to Cas, who was still staring out the window with faraway eyes. Sam and Dean had gone back to staring at the road, pretending like everything was perfectly okay. 

"Cas," Ben said, careful not to be too loud. "Could Amy- I mean Gabriel. Actually, whichever, both, either." He squinted, trying to forestall a headache. "Was it Amy that unblocked my memories? I mean, the way I've been able to see Dean without having a seizure."

Cas turned to face him slowly, a very thoughtful look on his face. "Yes. Yes, Gabriel would have been perfectly capable of removing the blockage. Even if he was mostly unconscious, Amriel would likely have been able to manipulate the power, if she felt that something was wrong. Had anything been out of the usual?"

Ben cast his mind back.

Huh. Yeah, something  _had_  been off. The picture on the floor and the  _splitting_  headache. The sense of déja vu. Had he...? "Cas, what would have happened if I caught sight of evidence? A picture, say? Before the block was removed."

Cas' forehead crinkled even more. "Likely your mind would reset itself, if that was possible. Wipe your memories of seeing the object, and then..." Cas wasn't quite catching his eyes. 

Well, Ben had to say, Cas was one of the most angelic angels Ben had met. He was a lousy liar. "Then?"

"The memory wipe wasn't just to you. I had a good deal more power back then, and it was set to destroy evidence. The people around you would forget about Dean once he was mentioned, and photos would change."

Oh. Great. No  _wonder_  Ben had barely been able to find any clues. They self-destructed on contact. "So Amy noticed the, uh, symptoms and fixed it?"

Cas nodded. "Precisely. It's good that she did that. Otherwise, you might have passed out upon meeting Dean, among other things."

Ben decided he wasn't going to mention that he passed out upon seeing Dean anyway. It wasn't relevant, right? He really needed to learn to not hold his breath when fighting. Amy would  _never_  let him live that down.

"Right," Ben said. "Lucky me."

 


	79. Raven Hair & Clown Faces

When they arrived back at the bunker, it was without much fanfare. Cas got in his (terrible) car, Ben had an emotional reunion with the Apple, Amy hit him on the head, and then they all headed back to their rooms to crash.

Amy took the same guest room she had last time, with a muffled, "See ya in the morning,  _Princess_."

Ben was displeased that she'd acquired yet  _another_  nickname for him, but there really wasn't much he could do about it. 

Everything was quiet. For once. Ben crashed in his bed, asleep before he could say  _Jinx_.

The morning wasn't nearly as peaceful. 

Ben rolled over with a groan, barely awake. Something squawked, and Ben was halfway across his room in the middle of a heart attack. His entire being was screaming  _Ravens I'm deeeeead._

The raven squawked again, its claws digging into his hair. Ben batted at his head, hitting the raven over and over until it practically bit his fingers off. 

Ben tried to beat it off with his covers. He tried sticking his head in the shower. He tried screaming and running headfirst into the wall.

The last one worked for about thirty seconds. Long enough for the raven to flap off Ben's head and Ben to realize a few seconds too late that he was still heading for the wall. He was pretty sure he didn't have a concussion, but his head hurt like hell. To add insult to injury, the raven then settled itself right back into place. 

It was another struggle to get a new shirt over his head, and by the time Ben made his way to the kitchen, he was ready to get Dean to shoot the damn thing off his head. Ben wasn't sure he had a good enough angle to do it himself, and he didn't want to put any holes in the ceiling. He figured Dean the SuperHunter™ would have good enough aim to kill the damned thing without killing him. 

The raven cackled and pecked his head.

The kitchen was in even more chaos. Every  _single_  surface had a clown either A) painted on or B) glued to it. There were no less than six clown heads on the table, and Ben thanked his lucky stars that they weren't  _actual_   heads. 

Clearly, Gabriel was up and about. 

Sam was scrubbing the clown face off the fridge with stony-faced determination. The paint — or sticker, or magically flattened clown, Ben couldn't tell — was gluing the fridge door to the freezer door. Seeing as the freezer was a drawer and the fridge hinged sideways, this was a problem.

"I assume you don't like clowns," Ben said dryly. 

Sam spun, brandishing a paint chipper, then relaxed. His eyebrows slammed down. "You have a, uh,"

"...raven on my head." Ben finished. Removed a clown head from a chair and threw himself down. The raven flapped and cawed, Ben's hair tearing out in little chunks. He scowled. 

Sam sighed. "I assume you don't like ravens." 

Ben snorted as Sam turned back to hacking at the flattened clown on the fridge. "I got kidnapped then almost eaten by giant ravens a couple weeks ago. So, yeah."

Sam turned around long enough to shoot Ben a simultaneously confounded and empathetic look. He wasn't the only one with weird cases. "Giant ravens? How giant?"

Ben shuddered. "About as tall as me." Flashback to being picked up and thrown at a wall. Also as traumatically: being belched at. "I'm pretty sure they ate a couple police officers."

Sam made a wounded sound. "Yikes. What case was that- Aha!" The fridge popped open. "Jeez. About time." Sam withdrew a carton of eggs. "Scrambled eggs?"

The clown heads were starting to creep Ben out. He could've  _sworn_  that some of them had turned to stare at him. "Yeah, that'd be great. The Tulpa case. We got this mustache-twirling sort of villain with the power to make gigantic homicidal ravens. Lots of fun, I tell you."

Sam cracked the eggs, pointedly avoiding looking at the clown grinning up at him from the bottom of the pan. "We ran into a Tulpa once, what, nine years ago? It was a morphing ghost. We had to burn down the house."

"That was you?" Ben said incredulously. "Right. Of course that was you." He knocked a couple clown heads off the table. Somehow, they landed grinning up at him. He shuddered. "You guys are into every single corner of the hunter world."

Sam shrugged, leaning against the counter, his hair ridiculously under control for so early in the morning. Ben's was a rat's- Nope. It was a literal ravens nest. "Hey, it isn't intentional. We just hunt whatever needs hunting."

Ben tried to extract the raven from his hair. It started drilling into his head like a woodpecker until he gave up. " _Ow_ , what the  _hell_ \- Yeah Sam, and then starting the Apocalypse because of your heaven sent destiny. Then the Leviathans. Then-"

Sam scowled at the eight foot clown head on the wall behind Ben. "Okay, fine."

Ben kicked the clown head away. It rolled maybe two feet away, then grinned at him again. Ben looked away. "Where are Dean and Am-" Whoops. If Gabriel was playing tricks on them, Amy wasn't going to be around. "Where's Dean?"

Sam poked at the eggs. "Probably still sleeping. We  _did_  get back pretty late."

"True." Ben could feel the clown's eyes burning into the back of his skull, right along with the claws of the vengeful bird. "Is he going to accept scrambled eggs, or is it too," air quotes, "unhealthy? I don't want to mess with the twelve step process."

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's just eggs. He will be fine."

"I'll be what?" Dean was standing in the doorway, blinking sleepily. Then the clowns seemed to register. "What the hell, Sammy?"

"Gabriel," Sam said needlessly. "Scrambled eggs?"

"Sure?" Dean's eyes passed over Ben, cataloguing clowns, then he did a double take. "Ben, there's a-"

"...raven on my head." Ben said. "Yeah. To recap: I got kidnapped and nearly eaten by giant ravens during a Tulpa hunt. I dislike ravens. Therefore," he gestured around the kitchen. "Prime target for... whatever this is. What'd you get?'

Dean knocked the last few clown heads off the table. Seated himself. He looked vaguely concerned. Or amused. Ben couldn't tell. "Nothing."

Sam slid Ben a plate of scrambled eggs, puttered back to the stove. For the first time, Ben noticed that Sam had a clown face on his person. 

Specifically, on his butt. 

He couldn't stifle a laugh. "Sam, uh, I think you might want to go... change."

"What?" Sam looked down. Of course, he couldn't see the clown. "Why?"

Dean had caught onto the problem, and he was laughing more genuinely than ever.

"Dean?"

Ben, through some feat of sorcery, was able to keep a straight face. "There's a clown on your butt."

"And isn't that hilarious?" Gabriel said. It was Amy's voice, but richer and swingier, sliding around the scale like it was greased. "And fitting. You, Sasquatch, are the literal butt of the joke." Then she winked at Ben. "You, MiniChester, are the head of the problem."

"Are you done?" Ben wanted to know. "With the puns?"

Gabriel shrugged Amy's shoulders, oddly elegant. "I am never done. Not when the three of you keep having eggistential crises." A finger gun. The scrambled eggs on Ben's plate unscrambled itself, his fork still impaled in the middle.

Ben gave Gabriel his best approximation of his mother's Look. It wasn't very effective with a raven on his head.

Then Gabriel was peering into the fridge, head stuck all the way in. Her voice echoed oddly. "Man, you guys don't have any candy?" Then she shoved the fridge back shut. Frowned so wide it was almost comical. "Aw, you guys desecrated the clown? Naughty!"

Before Gabriel could will everything back into chaos, Ben was on his feet. "Can I just... say something?" The raven pecked him. "Ow!"

"You just did say something, MiniChester." She was grinning Amy's grin, which was off-putting. At least it wasn't MiniDean anymore. That had been even more annoying.

Ben sighed. The raven dug its talons into his hair. Again. "About Amy."

That got her attention. "What about the Amy-Angel? She's snoozing right now. Totally fine. She gets cake when she wakes up. It's a win-win situation."

 _Not for the Winchesters,_  Ben wanted to say, but he got the feeling that was part of Gabriel's 'win'. "She conked pretty hard after your little disco party. Using your powers in such an..." pointed eyebrow at the clown heads, still grinning, "excessive way burns her out. Aren't you supposed to be the friendly tenant? Not a gigantic drain."

"Eh," Gabriel said. Did another shampoo commercial hair flip. "She's got great hair, doesn't she? She keeps tearing at the ends with her twisty thing. Such a shame."

"Gabriel."

Another shrug. "Hey, I've got permission. We had a little chat-"

"How-"

"Dreams, MiniChester. I believe you have personal experience with that sort of angelic power." Eyebrow eyebrow. Amy's face looked ridiculous with Gabriel sitting behind the wheel.

Okay, fine. "Permission? For what?"

Gabriel waved her hand. "Oh, torture, you know. The basic stuff. I get an hour a day to wreak any havoc I want. Plus a couple bonus opportunities, if something is too good to pass up." A studious face that Amy would never be caught dead in. "Unless, of course, she is A," Gabriel held up a finger. "Talking to someone. B, reading something cool. C, researching, or D," Amy's entire frame shuddered. "Using the washroom."

Ben had to admit, that was pretty fair. And distressing. "You can just pop in and sic ravens on us at any time?" To accentuate his point, the raven on his head cackled. It was having far too much fun with this.

"Hells yeah," Gabriel was having even more fun than the raven. "Well. Within reason. And after today no full scale." A wicked grin. That, at least, wasn't out of place on Amy's face. "I've got five more minutes, so I'm going to make the most of it."

Something hit Ben's face, wet and slick. He stumbled back, the raven cawing and flapping at his face.

Sam shrieked.

When Ben saw Dean, he realized why.

He looked like a clown. Full face paint, unnerving smile stretching up to the edges of his eyes. Ben was sure he didn't look much better. Gabriel was bent over in hysterics, clapping his hands like a seal. Then the canvas flapping sound was resonating out again and Gabriel was gone. Ben didn't want to know where she was headed. Somewhere terrible, he was sure.

Ben was at the sink, ignoring the clown head faucet handles, scrubbing at his face. Dean was cackling at Sam right along with the raven.

The paint didn't come off until about five minutes later, at about the same time that Dean let out a horrible yell. He'd wandered off, ostensibly to check around for any other 'presents' Gabriel had left around, but Ben was pretty sure he was actually going to go coo at his car.

"The bastard!" Dean was enraged, voice echoing up from the garage. A loud  _clank_ , like he'd thrown something.

"What?" Ben yelled back.

A growl. Yes, actually a growl. "There's fricking raven poop everywhere!"

Ben winced. Gabriel had done the unthinkable. He'd messed with Dean's car. Ben hoped Gabriel wasn't too fond of staying alive, because that was probably not in the cards. Nobody messed with Dean's Baby.

Ben sighed.

 


	80. Lessons & Bananas

Ben had re-scrambled his eggs and gotten halfway through eating them before Amy wandered into the kitchen, yawning and scratching her head. Any progress Gabriel had made with her hair — Ben seemed to remember smooth flowing locks in the few minutes Gabriel had spent assaulting him with clown face — was gone. It looked like she'd stuck her hand in an electrical outlet.

"Morning," Ben said. Had another bite of egg. "Sleep well?"

A shrug. "As well as it is possible with an archangel hopped up on sugar begging nonstop." She frowned. "Why are there clowns on the wall?" Amy sounded something between exasperated and exhausted and amused. "That's some redecoration."

"Sam's afraid of clowns." Ben half-heartedly tried to stab the raven on his head with the fork. It squawked. Amy rolled her eyes. "Don't look at me like that! It won't leave me alone!"

Amy raised an eyebrow as she dug through the fruit bowl with a hand. Sam had moved it out onto the counter after the whole sealing the fridge shut incident. Then he'd fled, sorry,  _left_. Ben was thinking he was going to look for more cases. Anything to get him out of the clown-covered bunker. "And who's fault is that?"

Ben practically spewed his bite of egg across the table. "Uh, Gabriel's?"

Amy took a bite of an apple, jumped up to park herself on the counter. "Sure. Which is why you haven't killed it. Or otherwise gotten it away."

Ben prodded it again with his fork. It pecked his head. "I'm not going to  _kill_  it, Amy. It's just a bird." A really annoying bird. A magical, really annoying bird. "I would hope that if I was a bird, nobody would kill me."

He ignored the fact that he'd considered shooting it in his room maybe ten minutes ago. He was older now, wiser. 

"That makes literally no sense, Benny boy." Amy said sagely. Took another bite of her apple. Spat it into her hand. "Here, boy! Here!"

"Hey!" Ben said, but then he realized she wasn't talking to him. The raven cawed, and finally,  _finally_  let go of his head. It flew up to perch on Amy's arm, ate the bite of apple. Cawed again, happily. 

Ben took the chance to smooth his hair down from the raven nest. Amy petted the bird and generally looked superior. Ben glared. "Oh,  _now_  it's behaving."

Amy shrugged. "Hey, ravens are like boys. Feed them, and they behave."

Ben ate his last bite of scrambled egg before he realized exactly how ironic that was. He swallowed, and clinked the plate into the sink. Amy was still petting the raven, and Ben was halfway out the door when she said, "Where do you think you're going, Bib?"

"Um," Ben said. "Away?"

She grinned wickedly, an exact mirror of Gabriel. "Nope. Today, I'm going to teach you how to fight."

Ben scooted another couple inches away. "I know how to fight?"

Amy flung the raven into the air, and fainted back onto the counter. "Oh no!" she narrated. "I held my breath while I was fighting! And then I fainted!"

"Oh, shut up."

"And also I am a fail physically," she continued, "And I can barely throw a punch and a kick?" Gales of laughter. 

"Oh, shut  _up_."

Amy hauled herself back to sitting. "No, I mean, really. I've taught you a couple things, like punching and a couple holds but seriously, that's not enough." Another crunch of the apple. "Not that I'm like, a professional or anything. Mostly just common sense stuff, because apparently you don't know what that is."

"Hey!" 

Amy fake fainted again. Ben scowled. "Fine. What's this common sense you want to teach me?" Did he have any ammo? Nope. Okay. 

She slid off the counter, settled back onto her heels, beckoned. Ben blanched. "What, here?" There were a lot of point objects here. Amy looked ready to fling him into them. Not good.

She shrugged, and again, Ben's brain hurt because it wasn't Gabriel. It was just Amy again. None of the fluid, devil-may-care-cause-I-don't grace. Man, how did people deal with angel vessels? Just forget about them? That seemed to be the way Sam and Dean were dealing with them. 

He was pretty sure that was because they'd never really known the vessel. They met Cas before they met Jimmy. And even when they met Jimmy, he was around for maybe a week before Cas dropped back down to resume his six year friendship. Not exactly fair. 

Ben knew Amy far before he knew Gabriel. He knew the vessel before the angel, and maybe that too was why he thought vessels were more important than the angels. They were human, like him. Like Amy.

Even if they were really irritating. Like Amy knocking him off his feet. 

Ben hit the ground hard, palms smarting, and was halfway to getting up when Amy shoved him down with a well-placed knee to between his shoulders. His arms were twisted behind him just tightly enough he couldn't use them for anything, but not quite tight enough to hurt. 

The floor smelled like feet. It was not pleasant. 

"This," Amy said cheerfully, "is why you don't drop your guard and drool off into space when someone says fighting time. Got it?"

Ben grunted. 

Amy let him up, grumpy, rubbing at his shoulders. "Fine. I get it. Don't let your guard down. Don't stop breathing." A grin. "Don't ever stay in the same room as your friend when they look like," and he imitated Amy's wicked grin. 

It was close enough to inspire another gale of laughter. "Yeah, totally, Braden. The three cardinal rules of fighting." Back to serious. "Seriously though, Ben. Keep breathing. Keep your guard up. At least if you lose, you can say you've tried."

"That's not a lot of use if I'm dead," Ben deadpanned. "Yeah, God," he said in a falsetto. "I tried, man. Can you send me back? Promise I didn't die on purpose."

Amy shook her head, trying to swallow her grin. It wasn't really working. "Yeah, Braeden. Totally. But  _try_. You'll do better."

Ben rolled his eyes, but tried to shove those factoids into his long-term memory. "Try. Got it. What else?

Amy's was blur, sprinting at him, and Ben went down again, straight onto the really,  _really_  hard and painful floor. There was a sickening sort of crack, and then Amy's hand glowing blue over his face. She looked disappointed.

" _Ow_ ," Ben said, with feeling.

"Sorry," Amy said, with amusement. "Didn't I teach you how to dodge? Or fling me away? Or, I dunno, how to  _stay on your feet_?"

Vaguely, Ben can remember all of these things, but he had been so busy trying not to forget not to let his guard down that he let his guard down. It's the supremest form of irony. "Oops?"

Amy sighs. Then charged again. This time, Ben was able to step and shove at just the right moment, sending her careening into the counter. She spun in practically midair and leapt. This time, Ben had to grab her arm and shoulder and  _throw_  her over him. Like she taught him, sometime between author conferences an eternity ago.

Ben didn't hear her land, but seeing as there was no shriek of pain and/or loud crashing noises, he was pretty sure Amy The Ninja was okay. 

This was confirmed by a clap on the shoulder that was only half attack. "Nice, Braden. You  _do_  actually remember things."

"When you don't just randomly  _attack_  me."

She waved that off. "Details, details." Then she hopped back up on the counter, started to peel a banana. Cautiously, Ben sat back down. The clown face on the fridge leered at him, like it was judging his fighting skills. Ben was halfway to scowling back before he remembered it was just a painting. 

He looked back over at Amy, eating her banana like absolutely nothing had just happened. "That's it?"

Not that Ben was in the mood for more bruises. 

Amy shrugged. "Just wanted to get a couple points through. I mean, the Winchesters are going to know  _way_  more about fighting than I do."

"True." Ben risked snagging a banana for himself. "They're nuts."

Even the clowns seemed to agree. Ben was starting to think they were sentient. He wanted them gone. 

Amy gave him a measured look. "Just... Ben, no offence, but you aren't nearly as buff as they are. Not as tall, either. You're a good four inches shorter than Dean, maybe six inches shorter than Sam. The way they fight won't work for you sometimes.

"I mean, you won't have the strength — don't look at me like that, Braden, you know it's true — to do their crazy stunts and flinging and whatever the heck they do on a regular basis. Just, y'know, keep that in mind. Make sure you're on guard." She caught his gaze with hers, steel laced. "And  _breathe_ , idiot."

Ben ate another bite of banana. It was almost touching that she'd thought of that. If she hadn't got the point across with tackling him multiple times, it would have been quite meaningful. As it was, Ben now felt 5% less likely to spontaneously die in a fight. 

"Thanks," he said. 

"Don't mention it," Amy replied. "I gave you the bruised banana."

 


	81. Gabriel Time & Major Mistakes

At five PM precisely the next day, chaos struck. The clown faces Sam had been so painstakingly chiselling off the walls filled themselves back in. The raven went back to attacking Ben, and Ben was pretty sure it had taken a detour to poop on Dean's Impala first. 

Simply put, five PM was Gabriel Time. 

The archangel herself made frequent appearances, teleporting in to cackle and throw eggs or scare the crap out of Ben and make him concuss himself against the undercarriage of the Apple.  _That_  incident seemed to be Gabriel's favourite. She actually stuck around long enough for Ben to cuss at her. 

Mostly because Gabriel was laughing too hard to breathe.

By the time six o'clock rolled around, everybody in the house was pretty much ready to hit Gabriel upside the head with a frying pan even if it meant hitting Amy too. If it had gone on much longer, they probably would have.

But Amy was back at six, in an armchair in the library, reading as if nothing had happened at all. Ben wandered in, panting heavily, having just managed to free himself from a secret compartment in the bookshelf that had maybe a 50% chance of being there before Gabriel started meddling. It had been tiny and old and stinky and Ben had nearly had a heart attack when he was first swallowed by the shelves.

"Braeden," said Amy. Conversationally. "How's your day been?"

"Well, it was great," Ben told her, sagging into another armchair. It smelled like mildew and crushed academic ambition. "Until the frigging  _archangel_ showed up and sicced an evil raven on my and made me  _concuss_  myself on my  _car_."

"Oh," Amy said, petting the aforementioned raven. It cawed happily, gave Ben a shifty look like it was considering taking back up its post. Ben put a magazine over his head. "Is that all? That's better than I expected."

"Wow," Ben said, ignoring how dumb he felt with a magazine on his head. "Thanks. I am  _so_  glad that you decided to let an archangel loose in the bunker. Every day. It's really..." he tried to find appropriately disparaging words. Failed. "...something."

Amy only grinned, turned the page. The book looked new, and the ominously shiny red cover with a dramatic looking model wasn't exactly Men Of Letters ancient fare.

"Where'd you get the book?"

"Ooh," Amy said, half-teasingly. "You noticed something! That's a first."

"Hey!"

Ben really needed a better repertoire of comebacks, 

"Hey, nothing." Amy shook the book out, flashing a back cover in the same eye piercing flashy red. "Just a little something Gabriel's been teaching me."

Ben sunk back farther into the armchair, the magazine taking a dive off his head and clattering to the floor. The raven eyed him with calculation. "Oh, goodie. Conjuring things? You can do that now?" He covered his head with one hand. Casually. The raven cackled menacingly. "What's next? More ravens?"

"Possibly." Amy looked like she wanted to laugh. "Depends on how irritating you are."

"Hey!"

Her eyes turned inwards, her fingers did a little twisting motion, and the air took on an odd shimmer, like asphalt in summer. Then, poof, there was something in her hand. Amy's eyes were tight and tired, but she was holding a tennis ball. The raven squawked and flapped off to less spontaneous pastures. 

Of course, she whipped it at his head. Ben didn't manage to duck in time, and he yelped embarrassingly. "Amy!"

A snigger. " _Serves_  you right." Amy turned back to her brand new book, acting as if she hadn't just punished Ben with a tennis ball and then a truly terrible pun. Ben sighed.

Then he had another brainwave. Leaned forward, feeling unusually crafty. "Can you conjure anything? Anything Gabriel could, I mean? I heard he was conjuring up women and murderous chainsaw-toting scarecrows back in the day."

Amy frowned at her book, turned the page, continued frowning, then glanced up. "I am  _reading_ , Ben."

"Yeah, well," Ben said. Stealthily placed another magazine on top of his head. He couldn't see the raven, but he knew it was in the room somewhere, likely plotting his demise. "I have important questions. More important than if your angsty protagonist hooks up with the good boy or the bad boy."

He had a sudden flashback to Cressida and the Bad Boy Benny facade. He shuddered. 

Amy's eyes lifted, a dangerous sort of light gleaming. "Yes, Braeden. That's why they're fleeing from a huge group of nosferatu that are burning down their school and many people are  _dying_ , yes, go on with your little," a scoff, " _question_."

What sort of freaky books was Amy reading? First ravens, now this. Explosions and death and... nosferatu? He was pretty sure that was an obscure term for vampire. Freaking weird friends he used to have, that was for sure.

Not that Amy was better. 

Anyway. Wasn't reading supposed to be some sort of relaxing activity? Weren't teen books supposed to be about relationship dramas? What had happened to the publishing industry? Yeesh. 

"Um," Ben said. "Can you conjure just about anything? That you've seen before, touched before, that sort of thing. Anything that Gabriel could? Or are you limited to like," he gestured. "Books, tennis balls? Little stuff?"

"I'd like to see you try to conjure up this 'little stuff'," Amy grumbled, but Ben could tell she was thinking about it. She settled the book face down on the arm of the chair, settled back with a contemplative expression. Twisted her hair round and round again. "I guess? It sucks, though. Worse than smiting that last raven." A scowl, the sort Ben was  _extremely_  glad not to be on the receiving end of. "Stupid archangel's still being cagey about how this is all working."

She waved her hands around, thrust her shoulders back as far as they could go, and in a falsetto: "Oh, Amy-Angel, you ask such questions! My turn! Do you prefer Skor or Mars Bars? Mars Bars? Really? What about Skittles? Can I pop in for an hour today? There's all these things I want to do to the Winchesters? Pretty please?"

Ben wanted to cackle, but he got the feeling that wouldn't be smart. Amy could taunt Gabriel all she liked because she pretty much  _was_  Gabriel and held every card there ever was. Ben? If he wasn't careful, he would get another flock of ravens attached to an uncomfortable variety of body parts.

"Sounds... fun," he told her, with a straight face. Summarized: "So, you don't know?"

A groan. Amy tipped her head back, colliding it with the plush back of the armchair. "I guess. I mean, I'll figure it out eventually. When he stops being such a  _pain_ \- ow!" She slapped her side. "Don't  _do_  that!"

"Uh," Ben said.

Amy sighed. "Never mind." A squinty look. "Did this have a  _point_  or were you just trying to get me away from my book?"

Personally, Ben thought it would never be a smart idea to remove Amy from her books, but he did have a point. A semi-important one, lurking in the back of his mind. The little part that liked stabby things and explosions and the rest of this hunting darkness.

"You think you'd be able to make any more angel blades? I know that Cas has two and the Winchesters might have some poking around in their gazillion secret back rooms but like... I dunno." Ben scratched the back of his neck, slapped his head to keep the magazine in place. The raven cackled from the rafters. "They can kill just about anything. Useful, you know?"

Amy opened her mouth to reply, then froze. Closed it. Looked thoughtful, her eyes turned inward. "Well... yeah."

Ben didn't think she was talking to him.

"Yeah," she said again. Her fingers played absently with the fringed ends of her hair. The bleached streaks had the tiniest sliver of colour at the top, where it was growing back in. "Crowley. King of hell?"

Something shifted in Ben's stomach, crackling liquid stress. Energy started humming along his limbs and his breath caught. Things were starting to click. He couldn't  _believe_  he hadn't thought of this oh god they were so stupid they were so fucking stupid-

Amy was on her feet, edgy energy pulsing. They caught eyes, and Ben knew that she'd just realized it too. 

"I gave the king of hell an archangel blade."

 


	82. A Phone Call & A Coincidence

Amy's phone rang. 

Ben was barely breathing, Amy just as frozen. As one, their gazes swivelled to the phone. It was sitting on the table innocently, something Ben hadn't bothered to notice.

It rang again, the banjo sound that Ben hated with all his soul. It was all lit up, the word WOLFIEKINZ blinking across the front. And again, the dreaded banjo strummed. Thank everything, Amy picked it up before it could get through the dreaded riff.

"Garth?" Amy was stock still, something odd in her voice. Hope?  Anticipation? "Did you get it? Did you find him?"

 _Him_? Ben thought they had been about to deal with the we-accidentally-gave-the-king-of-hell-a-superweapon problem. What could possibly-

Oh. 

Tate.

Tension dripped off Amy, puddling around her on the marble floor. She had a hand tapping at her collarbones, right between her heart and neck like she needed to catch a gasp or a heartbeat. "Oh,  _than_ _k_  you, Garth. Thank you. I can't tell you how much this means." Another pattering tap at her collarbones, like she was sending vibrations back down her skeleton, keeping her heart on track. "How do you manage to do this? You're amazing."

Ben gave Amy a ????? look. She ignored him, running for the table, sending books flying. Her hands were nearly shaking, throwing carelessness into the air with the scattered papers. Finally, she found a pen, and started jotting down notes on her arm. Like she thought paper wasn't solid enough.

"Westboro? Isn't that where the crazy anti-gay baptist church is?" Another scribble, a half-crazy laugh. "Yeah, totally. I'm pretty invested in the issue. Hard not to be- An old WalMart? Abandoned? Outskirts? Sounds about right. Ooh,  _and_  a local blacksmith inexplicably bombed out? Nice." More notes. Amy's hand was still trembling badly. Ben didn't know whether or not she'd be able to read them later, so he tried to memorize what she was saying. 

An abandoned WalMart on the outskirts of Westboro, which apparently had a homophobic church. Man, Ben  _really_  needed to ask Amy about her interests. He wouldn't've thought that would be one of them. Not that it was a bad interest. Just... unexpected.

"You're sure, though? Sulphur, black eyes, the works?" Amy had seemingly forgotten Ben was there, staring at the bookshelf in front of her. "You're sure it's Tate?"

Demons? Well. This was intense. Ben made a mental note to get an anti-possession tattoo at the nearest opportunity. If they were going to tango with demons again, he didn't want to repeat his nightmares and end up on the wrong side of those bottomless black eyes. Oh, and a knife that could actually  _kill_  them. Ben was a vessel advocate, all for using the holy water and exorcisms and Devil's Traps, but he knew that sometimes you didn't just have a choice.

Sam and Dean had apparently forgotten about the other side of that. They all geared up with angel blades and super duper guns (Ben wasn't sure he believed Dean about the whole demon-killing Colt gun, but he was willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt) and never really tried to save the hosts anymore. He got it. They'd been in the business a long time. Many,  _many_  demons had tried to kill them. They couldn't risk getting killed (again) by something as simple as a demon when they had kings of hell and archangels and evil marks on arms to deal with. 

Ben wasn't as stupid as everyone seemed to think he was. When every  _single_  book on a certain topic were on tables as opposed to the shelf, he knew they were being read. When something was pored over again and again, the book flattened out. It was easy enough to find the most read sections of the most read books. There was something comfortable about the empty silence of nighttime, the way everything was easy and settled. 

Except sleep. That never came easily, nowadays. So maybe Ben wandered. And maybe Ben searched. And maybe Ben read.

And maybe he wanted to smack Dean upside the head for doing something so  _monumentally_  moronic. The Mark of Cain! The  _Mark_  of  _Cain_! How the  _fuck_ had Dean thought that would end well? Ben knew the Winchesters weren't the most intelligent creatures when it came to blaming themselves and trying to save the world, but this really took the cake. Ugh.

At least that explained how Dean had become a demon. And stayed in his own body. And how said body wasn't dead. And how he managed to stuff himself back full of humanity. The man was stubborn, Ben could give him that. For his family, he would do anything. Even hold on to hope.

Ben himself just hoped that he was helping Dean more than hindering. The amount of angst he inspired by just being around Dean had to be humongous. Hopefully, (there was that word again. Hope.) by being silly and sort-of-huggy, he was making a little positive progress in Dean's dreary life. God knows the poor man needed it. 

"Thank you," Amy repeated, closed her eyes for the length of two breaths. "Garth, I owe you a million. I'll get you a vacation or something-" and Amy nearly smiled. "No, I wouldn't do that to you. Ben is  _not_  the sort of person that intelligent people invite over for dinner."

"Hey!" Ben protested, but he was more focused on trying to remember the facts. Something was niggling in the back of his brain. He just had to give it a couple more minutes...

Amy hung up, leaning the phone against her chest, almost like a hug. Ben looked away. It felt too much like a private moment.

"So," Amy said. Sat back down. The raven soared off the top of one of the shelves, snatched up the tennis ball, dumped it on Ben's head, and settled onto the back of Amy's armchair. "Do you have any more really great questions that lead to doom, or should we start planning how to tell the Winchesters what happened?"

Dangit. He did have a question. A question that was probably going to be helpful. What was it? This was infuriating. "Gimme a minute, I'll think of one." A snort. "In the meantime, how about we try to figure out damage control?" Ben stared at his hand as if he expected a knife to appear in it. Surprisingly, one did: the silver knife Amy had given him an eternity ago. "What can he do with an archangel blade, anyway?"

The air charged and sparked, and Ben glanced up, almost grimacing. Gabriel was staring back at him through Amy's eyes. "Bad stuff, MiniChester. Angel blades are hella dangerous just on their own, but an archangel blade? It'll pretty much kill anything an angel blade can't. Dragons? Gone-zo. You want the king of hell to have the power to threaten dragons?"

Before Ben could thing of a witty response,  _zap_ , Amy again. She sighed. " _Archangels_ ," she said, like an epithet. "Anything useful?"

"Doom," Ben said helpfully. "Angel blades can kill pretty much anything, and archangel blades can kill pretty much anything else. Gabe-"

"He says to not call him Gabe, by the way."

"- _Gabe_  gave us the helpful example of dragons. With an angel blade, Crowley can kill dragons. Or kill one and threaten the rest into obedience."

Amy scowled, punched herself in the head. Ben stared. "Why didn't you  _say_  anything?" she growled. Ben frowned. "You could have told me not to give over the damn blade?"

Ben could  _feel_  the excuses. Or 'reasons', as Ben was sure Gabriel was calling them. Ugh. He wondered if hosting an angel was as bad as hosting a demon.

It hit. 

"Amy," he said slowly. The sensation of puzzle pieces snapping together was back. "Wasn't Tate one of Crowley's minions?"

"No, you stupid-" Her eyes snapped up. "Sorry. Yeah, he was. Seemed to be, at least. Why?"

Excitement was rising in Ben's stomach, replacing the fear and anxiety. "And Crowley said something about melting down angel blades, right? That's why he had to get another from us?"

"Yeah," Amy drew out the word like it was personally offensive. 

Ben was grinning now, smile stretched so wide his face was aching. "This is awesome. Amy, I know where we can get at Crowley. We don't even have to go to hell. Amy, he's melting down the angel blades in the Westboro WalMart. Wanna bet Crowley'll be there too, supervising and delegating?"

Amy's jaw dropped. "Oh, no  _way_. It can't be that easy. That's  _insane_."

If it was possible, Ben's grin got even wider. "Oh yeah. It is. This is  _great_."

 


	83. Problematic Problems & Reminiscing

They'd calmed down slightly by the time they apprehended Sam and Dean in the kitchen. Sam was going at the clown faces — again — with a pitiful expression. Dean was stabbing at his salad with more anger than even greens deserved, and Ben got the feeling he'd just finished cleaning off Baby.

Again.

Man, Gabriel was  _trying_  to doom himself.

Ben and Amy shouldered past each other, tumbling through the door and nearly tripping over themselves. Sam turned his expression from depressed to confused with an underlayer of displeased bitchface. Dean was already about as irritated as he could get, so his expression didn't change.

"We have a problem," Ben told them, slightly out of breath. "But like, a really bad problem. But also a good problem! And we sort of know how to fix it!"

"Like,  _really_  problematic problem," Amy concluded. She was more put together than he was, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. "Actually, we have two really problematic problems. We can probably solve both of them with the same full-on assault, though."

"Ben?" Dean had looked up from his salad, concern and confusion tempering the anger. "What are you talking about?"

"Um," Ben said. "Remember when Crowley popped by and demanded a knife? And Amy gave him hers? And then there was a disaster with her brother?"

 _All too well_ , Sam's bitchface told him.  _And you were really dramatic about it, too_.

"Sure," Dean said. 

"Well," Amy tugged on her hair. She wasn't catching the Winchesters eyes. "Since I'm sort of Gabriel, the knife is an archangel blade."

"Oh," Sam said. " _Well_."

Ben grimaced. "Yeah. So that's sort of a problem."

He received a double Winchester  _You Think?_  bitchface. He wanted to apologize, but he didn't. "And then there's the problem of the demon possessing Tate slowly turning into a superdemon?"

"That is also a problem," Amy confirmed. "A problematic problem."

This was going really well. Not.

Ben filled them in with the WalMart forging station in the anti-rainbow town, and the likelihood of them being able to heist the knife and Amy's brother back, all in the same strike. 

Finally, they finished. And waited.

Dean turned to Sam, a funny look on his face. "Were we this annoying when we were their age? Man, I feel so bad for Dad now."

"Hey!" Ben said, but Sam was already laughing. 

"Probably worse," Sam told his brother, between chuckles. "I seem to remember you being quite the pain in the butt on that werewolf hunt when you were eighteen- remember how I wrote a report on that one and got a talking to from my teacher for writing fiction?"

"Then he told you to be an author!" Dean actually  _grinned_. "You should'a written down our lives. Could have made a living as a paranormal author."

"I think Chuck beat us to that." Sam gave an embarrassed laugh, ducking his head, hair swinging. "Wonder if he would still write the stories if I was going to become an author?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Probably. Greedy bastard thought he was coming up with it all on his own. He'd probably edit it out."

Ben exchanged a glance with Amy. The Winchesters were doing the Thing again. Discussing their frigging weird traumatic childhoods and completely ignoring everyone else in the room. Ben wondered if it was a special skill or if they were really just that oblivious.

"Um," he said, starting the brothers out of their reverie. "Are we going to make a plan or something?"

Sam looked embarrassed again. "Right. So, did Garth have any more information on the compound?"

"It's definitely a hell on earth." Ben said. "I mean, it's  _WalMart_."

"What is your  _deal_  with WalMart?" Amy kicked his shin. He glared. "You were complaining about it all the way through the book burning. Said it was like finding a cockroach in your macaroni — which is really impressive metaphor, by the way."

Ben held up a hand, sticking up a finger for each issue. "Child labour. Sweat shops. Not paying retail workers a livable wage. Building and abandoning gigantic buildings that are a  _huge_  waste of resources. Driving local businesses out of business." A glare. "Need I go on?"

"How do you even know this stuff?" Amy kicked his shin again. He tried to kick her back, missed, hit the wall. "I thought you were a mechanic, not an activist."

"Hey, you're pretty into gay rights."

Amy groaned. "That's because I'm asexual, you idiot. It's pretty much  _my_  issue."

Ben's brain made an error sound. "A sexual? A sexual what?"

Amy closed her eyes, hit her head against the door three times. "Oh, my god. Do I  _really_  have to go through this again? What do they teach in these schools?"

" _What_?" Ben was confused. Epically confused. Also, he was pretty sure Amy had just insulted him.

She fixed him with a steely glare. "Asexual, usually shortened to ace. It means that I don't feel sexual attraction. As in: I don't understand the word 'hot' when it's referring to a person, I have no desire to ever 'hit that', and I really don't get why people think butts are so interesting. It's being attracted to nobody." A deep, aggravated sigh. "Asexual. Not sexual. Got it?"

Ben's brain made more error signals. "So like, that's why you get so offended when you get hit on?" The story of the all the bars she'd been to (and all the  _complaining_  she'd done when she got back) rolled through his head. "Because you're..." what was it again? "...ace?"

"I get offended because being hit on is gross," Amy said, with the tone of someone Very Done with this conversation. "But sort of. I guess."

Another thing clicked, and Ben went  _Ohhh_. "Wait, is that what the ace bandage pun was about? 'Cause you said 'every bandage I apply is technically an ace bandage?' or something?"

Amy did a slow clap. "Exactly! Give the dude a prize. It only took him like, three days to get it."

"Hey!"

Someone cleared their throat, and Ben looked over to see Sam trying really, really hard not to laugh and Dean looking utterly confused. "Are you guys done?"

Ben went brick red. Whoops. They had just done the discussing-your-tragic-past-and-forgetting-about-everyone-else thing that Ben had just mentally complained about the Winchesters doing. Talk about irony. "Sorry. Yeah."

Amy, too, looked like she wanted to laugh, but she swallowed it. "Totally. You were saying?"

"Did Garth have any more information on the compound?" Sam repeated. Dean was still staring at a clown face on the wall, seemingly trying to comprehend someone not liking butts.

Amy was back in professional mode in less than a second. "Not much." She glanced down at her arm. Squinted. "Wow. I can't read my own writing."

See? Ben was intelligent. "Westboro." he said. "Outskirts. Old WalMart. Locals have noticed sulphur and black eyes, and an blacksmith in the area got pillaged and blown up." A pause. "Or blown up and pillaged. I don't know which came first."

"Probably the pillaging part, Bib." Amy said. "Since, you know, blowing it up would mean that the stuff would  _get blown up_."

"It's heavy metal! How do you know it couldn't withstand explosives!"

"Children," Sam rapped his paint chipper against the wall. The tip of the clown's nose was now wall-coloured. "Anything else?"

"A direct sighting of Tate," Amy started twisting her hair again. "Apparently he's head minion of the little hell on earth."

"Grace lineage," Dean said. Everyone stared. "What? I  _do_  pay attention, you know. He's probably in charge because he's the most powerful."

Amy scowled. It was more fear and pain than anger. "Yeah, I know, it's peachy. Garth said he'd keep us updated if anything progressed, so there's that, at least."

Dean nodded, stabbed another bite of salad. "We should probably get there soon as possible, though. It's been what, a week since Crowley's had the knife? He's not the king of hell for nothing. He'll notice something's up with it pretty quickly, if he hasn't already."

Sam resumed his attack on the clown, his face thoughtful. "I don't think he's found it out yet, though. We'd hear of something going to shit or he'd pop in to taunt us. I think we're safe for now." He turned back, bit his lip. "Dean's right, though. We're going to want to get on this ASAP."

"I'm always right, Sammy."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Sure, Dean. Like that time-"

Ben hit his head against the wall.

 


	84. Problematic Planning & Little Patience

Planning with the Winchesters, Ben decided, was like trying to herd cats. While trying to drag a greased pig. In the dark.

Sure, the Winchesters were clearly old hat at all of this, pretty much unkillable, and familiar with the layout of a previous king-of-hell-on-earth lair.

Unfortunately, they seemed unnaturally fond of the "Bust in and get the knife, kill lots of demons, don't die, kidnap Tate, and drive away in the Impala —  _my_  Impala, mind you, Ben. Yours just isn't as good."

Ben had many problems with this plan. For one, Amy and him weren't functionally immortal. For two, they didn't know where the blade  _or_  Tate was going to be. Three, Tate was a moving target. And a target that likely had weapons and wanted to kill them. They really shouldn't kill him. This was a lot of problems. 

Not to mention that there would be a  _lot_  of demons to evade or kill. Did Ben mention he wasn't all for stabbing the hosts? He was a soft soul. He was probably a terrible hunter. Whatever. And this was the  _king_  of  _hell_  they were talking about. No way would he just let them waltz in, snag a weapon and waltz right back out. There would be booby traps, at the very least, and Crowley himself was likely to make an appearance. You could call Ben a coward all you liked, but he was not psyched to face down the king of hell on his own turf with only a regular demon killing knife.

Also, there was the fact that Ben's Impala was the better one. It was green, for one. Everyone with a brain knew that Dean Winchester owned a black Impala and woe to anyone that messed with it. If Crowley saw a black Impala anywhere near his secret little super weapon forge, hell would punnily break loose. A green Impala, on the other hand... Dean would never, hell or high water, paint his Impala green. There was an incognito level in Ben's Impala. 

It was also just plain better. And Ben would defend his Apple to his dying breath.

"Dean," Ben said, for the hundredth time. "We  _cannot_  just charge in. If we take your car, Crowley will know that we're coming. If he knows that we're coming, he can have demons coming out the wazoo." Ben didn't actually know what a wazoo was. He got the feeling he didn't want to know. "And have you forgotten? Demons have to take human hosts. We're killing  _people_  by killing the demons. The less demons we have to use fatal force on, the better."

Amy nodded. Funnily enough, she'd kept mostly quiet. Arguing with Gabriel, maybe. "Ben's got a point. I've got dozens of Devil's Trap placemats and the like, and it's easy to make more. It slows them way the heck down, and someone," by this, she meant Ben, he just  _knew_  it, "can remain a couple steps behind and paint traps as we go. They were incredibly useful to catch the demons off guard last time."

"Yeah, well," Dean said, "Last time you needed our help."

Ben scowled, twiddled his pencil. "Last time, we were doing pretty okay for having  _one knife_  between the two of us."

"And an archangel," Amy-or-Gabriel said. 

"And an archangel." Ben finished. "That was sleeping and being useless. We were doing pretty well for what we had. Don't count us out, Dean."

Dean opened his mouth, but Ben knew exactly what he was about to say. Call it being psychic. "Dean, no way in  _hell_  am I waiting in the car and being the getaway driver. Don't start."

Dean closed his mouth. Sam opened his. "You  _do_  know your car better than we do," Sam said, emanating reasonableness. "And we might need to have a fast getaway."

Ben dropped the pencil, went brick red, snatched it back up. Amy snickered. "Sure. You're right." He waited long enough for them to look relieved before adding: "I can be the getaway driver. I'd be  _way_  faster than you giants in getting back to the car. I'm so glad you can see sense."

Dean sputtered. Sam blanched. Amy almost fell over laughing. 

"Ben-" they all said. 

Dean: "-you can't-"

Sam: "-that's not what I-"

Amy: "- _niiiiice._ "

Ben grinned. Spun the pencil around his finger successfully. "Dean, I'm not eleven anymore. I actually completed a hunt — against gigantic homicidal ravens, mind you-"

"With my help." Amy reminded him. 

"You'll be there, won't you?"

"Maybe."

Ben rolled his eyes. Rolled the pencil again. "Anyway. I'm not  _completely_  incapable, Dean. You can't trap me in the car just because you think I'm going to get hurt.

Amy twitched, and Ben caught her eyes. She raised an eyebrow.  _Lamp_ , she mouthed.  _To a gunfight._

 _Shut up_ , he mouthed back.

Silence settled into the kitchen in a prickly wave, crackling over the odd spot in Ben's ribs where he'd been shot. Dean went for his arm again, for the Mark, and Sam's forehead tightened. Ben wanted to scream. He didn't want to make this worse, he didn't want to push it, but Dean was being ridiculous. 

He got it. Dean didn't want Ben to die.  _Ben_  didn't want Ben to die. But Dean was putting himself at risk at  _least_  as much as Ben was, probably way more. He didn't seem worried about dying. Ben was thinking he couldn't, not technically, but whatever happened when Dean got fatally wounded could never be anything good. Did Dean think twice about putting himself in danger? He probably didn't even think once. 

Amy spoke, and Ben nearly jumped out of his skin. The silence shattered, the spiking quiet sinking away. "If you really think you can argue this dimwit into staying in the car, you're even dumber than he is."

For once, Ben didn't protest. She was right. He almost grinned. It was nice, having someone defend him.

"And plus?" Amy gave Dean the glare of all glares. None of the laughing rolled eyes that she gave him when she was pretending to be irritated. This was real. "You're an enormous hypocrite. You're throwing yourself into the fray without a second thought. So is Sam. So am I. Are you trying to stop anyone else?" 

Dean shifted, looked away. Amy kept rolling. "Right. Exactly. And are you even  _thinking_? It's not exactly a frigging," Uh oh. Swearing time. This was serious. " _easy_  hunt. It's not even simple demons. It's my brother, and it's an  _archangel_  blade and excuse me for being so  _blunt_ ," and she took the first breath in her rant so far. "but you need him. We're three people versus the king of hell and all his minions. We need Ben. He's not a half bad hunter."

Wow. Ben was speechless. She  _was_  serious about this. Deadly. Usually, she'd follow that with a snarky  _Well, maybe a third bad,_  or  _Yeah, wait, totally half bad._

All she followed it with was silence. Nobody else dared do anything but breathe. Even that was eerily quiet. Ben's lungs protested.

Dean was the first to crack, for once. He swallowed hard, made another go at the Mark. Halfway through the motion, he dropped his hand to the table as if he'd always intended to do that. Sam's Wifi Signal of Worry made a reappearance. Ben could feel his forehead doing something similar. 

"Fine," Dean growled. "Fine. Ben can come. Are you happy now?"

Amy disappeared.

Ben smiled at Dean in what he hoped was a non-confrontational way, and followed her lead. He was tired. His head was aching. 

Plus, the Winchesters would probably be able to come up with a plan on their own. Now that Ben (and keeping him alive) was a nonnegotiable variable, Ben was pretty sure they would work something out that was at least mildly sensible. 

That was the thing about the Winchesters. They wouldn't blink an eye to save themselves, but for family? They'd do anything. Ben wished they'd just save themselves before it was too late.

 


	85. Phone Home & Little Dancer

Amy was waiting for him in the hall, looking half amused and half exasperated. The usual, then.

"That went well," Ben said. 

They stared at each other. Then cracked up, Amy tipping her head back against the wall and Ben doubling over. Laughter bounced off the walls, rebounding and colliding. 

When Ben could breathe again, he settled against the wall on Amy's right, stared at the opposite wall. There was something fragile between them that felt maybe like a new trust. Ben had really done a number on their friendship with his 'get over it' thing. They'd tried again, falling back into old patterns, but right now it felt real. 

"We'll do it," he told her quietly, still not looking over. "We can rescue Tate. He'll be fine. He's a valuable vessel, he wouldn't have been damaged."

Amy shifted, and Ben knew that she was looking away. "There's no guarantee. Demons don't die from bullet wounds, but when you exorcise them? The vessels do. It might not even occur to the demon that Tate's damaged."

She did have a point. Amy always did have a point. "He's a high ranking minion. Apparently in charge of the angel bullet plant. Unless you're worried about him inhaling god smoke or something, it's not a high danger position."

Breathing echoed off the bunker walls just as loudly as the laughter had. Ben didn't know if it was because they were underground, or if it was just another magical feature. The grand canyon echo widget, or something. Can magic have widgets?

Amy's phone rang, but it wasn't the usual default beeps, or worse, the banjo. It was some sort of pop song that included liberal use of the words "on the floor". Ben had painful flashbacks to sixth grade.

His resolve broke. He looked at Amy. Amy looked at him.

"My phone's ringing." she said. Like Ben didn't know that.

Ben frowned. "...yeah. It's not mine."

She shook her head, finger tugging at the ends of her hair. The other hand went for her pocket."No, I mean, it's  _my_  phone. From before all..." she found it, held it between thumb and forefinger as if it was poisonous. "...this."

"Oh."  _Oh_  indeed. Who would be calling her after all this time? "Is it, uh, a friend?"

"What're those?" Amy was giving the phone a calculating look.  _Unknown number_ , it said. "I don't have  _friends_."

"What am I, chopped liver?"

A snort. "You would be, if I wasn't around."

"Hey!"

The phone stopped ringing. Amy shook it. Her forehead was creased into nostalgic sadness. It didn't suit her. "It's got the middle numbers 824. Both Tate's and mine had that. Our favourite numbers, you know?"

"Your favourite number was eight hundred and twenty four?"

"What? No." Amy seemed to wake up a bit, frowned at Ben instead of the phone. "Mine was eighty two. Tate's was four. He liked squares."

"Eighty two?" Ben repeated dumbly. "That's a bit arbitrary."

She shrugged, stuck the phone back in her pocket. "You know how the answer to the universe and everything is forty two? I've never gotten around to reading the book - but anyway when i was maybe six someone told me that. Only they had a really terrible accent and I heard 'orty two' and somehow," she waved her hands around, "I got 'eighty two' out of that and proceeded to act like that was the answer to the universe. Man, did I get a shock when I learned it was actually  _forty_  two."

Ben tried to hide his smile, he really did. Amy punched him anyway. "Hey, it was an honest mistake. Unlike  _you_  and-"

He never got to learn what exactly Amy planned to slam him with that time because her phone went off and this time she just rolled her eyes and clicked it onto speaker phone. 

"Amy? Oh god, Amy thank fucking god."

It was Tate. 

Amy dropped the phone and through some feat of incredible coordination, Ben caught it before it hit the floor. Tate was still babbling away and swearing like a sailor and Ben's stomach swooped. 

He'd been right. An off-handed joke to himself so long ago. He'd thought there was some sort of deep-rooted psychological star behind it and he was right. Losing her brother made her lose any sort of profanity. 

"Amy?" Tate was calling, staticked and distorted through the crappy phone speakers. Ben made to give Amy the phone but her eyes were too wide, her hand clamped tight over her mouth to stifle a cry or a scream or a breath. "Amy, can you pick up the-"

"Hello," Ben said. Nastily.

A startled burst of interference. Then a charming, "Who the fuck are you and why the fuck do you have my sisters phone?"

"Your sister," Ben said, keeping a careful eye on Amy, who was maybe 5% calmer than thirty seconds ago but 95% angrier. Not a good sign. "Is probably going to kill you for swearing at her."

Amy's eyes softened into something like thanks, but her face was hard, and her hand was out flat. 

"Here she is," Ben told Tate, ignoring the flood of expletives. "Good luck. You're going to need it."

Amy straight out shrieked into the phone for a good ten seconds. Ben covered his ears. Eventually, the endless breathless shriek turned into a tumble of complaints and questions.

Ben didn't know what was going on. It was Tate, he got that. But wasn't Tate currently  _a demon_? What was Amy doing?

When he caught a snippet of "Don't even  _start_  about your phone you idiot it's long gone," he got it. The demon didn't have access to Tate's memories. If the demon had fled the scene after the elder Grace's deaths, and Amy had said Tate's phone was gone, he wouldn't have known the number. 

So it really  _was_  her brother on the other end of that phone. If Ben could figure out to emote question marks, that would've been extremely helpful. 

Ben was about to try and slink out of the twins' way when Amy froze. Her eyes were saucers in her face again, and again, she wasn't breathing.

"Amy?"

Moving as if in a dream, Amy lowered the phone from her ear. It was still on speaker, and Ben could hear Tate's voice spilling out of the speaker. 

There was something wrong. There was something  _very_  wrong.

"Hello, little dancer. It's been a while since I've seen your insides." Tate's voice was smooth and oily, dark and cruel and sweet. "Or should I say, the insides of dear Michael and and Ashley."

Wrong thing to say. Amy's eyes lit on fire and she was firing back at the demon possessing her brother, "Yeah, it's been a while. Busy running far, far away, aren't you?"

Ouch. Even to Ben, the self-proclaimed failure at comebacks, he could tell that was a good one. Burn.

The demon sounded almost put out, still slickly dangerous. "Don't be like that, little dancer. You enjoyed the time we spent together."

"I enjoyed the time I kicked you out and threatened to stab you, yes." Amy's knuckles were white around the phone. "As I remembered it, you nearly wet your pants and ran."

" _You_  took a puny little angel into you instead of me. The wrong move, little dancer, let me tell you. That filthy winged ape won't treat you nearly as well as I could."

Ben remembered Gabriel, remembered  _Amy-Angel_  and  _She makes the rules_ _.rÿ_  Remembered how he'd asked how she was doing far before even Amy realized he was kicking around. He remembered Gabriel going out of his way to care for the crazy little girl who shared her skin with him. 

"Oh, that little glowy freak?" and Amy wasn't someone he recognized inside that moment. She was an actress, someone who put on new personas faster than Ben could trip over his own feet. "Soon as I you pointed out the freeloader, they were gone." A tinkling little laugh that made Ben's skin crawl. "I kept the knife, though. So it's best not to try me."

A chuckle, deep and throaty. That, Ben decided, is what Crowley should have sounded like. What the king of hell should've sounded like. "Oh, little dancer. Alright, then. I could try my pretty little vessel instead. See how he likes a bullet to the brain. Or a trip down the middle of the train tracks, hmm?"

Ben sucked in a breath so fast he nearly choked on it. He'd just  _promised_ -

"Oh," Amy said, disinterested. "That ugly old thing? I'm afraid you're greatly mistaken."

"Mistaken?" The line crackled with that hellish laughter again, a twisted sound Ben didn't want to think of as coming from anything remotely human. He didn't like Tate, the way he treated his twin, but he didn't deserve something awful eating away at him like that. "Oh, I don't think so, little dancer. The first thing he did in the minutes I allowed him was lunge for the phone to call you."

Amy snorted, but it was harsh, dismissive. "Yeah, he's stupid like that. Never really got the point. Little siblings, you know."

Ben couldn't remember if Tate was actually the younger one or if Amy was bullshitting like the rest of it. He didn't know if he cared. If the stakes weren't so high this would be hilarious.

If it wasn't Amy trying all she could to protect the only family she had left, it would be hilarious.

"He's the only family you've got left, this little fighter." the demon purred. "You're just going to throw that away?" Ben could feel the demon smiling over countless miles and telephone lines. "When I was all ready to give him back to you?"

"For just my soul, right?" Amy said, and Ben was gaping now because she really, actually sounded like she didn't care. "The small, small price of eternal torment. Thanks, but no thanks. I've got a new brother now, and he's much more useful than the old one."

Ben shot her a  _WTH?_  look, and she shot back a roll of her eyes. The demon muttered something Ben couldn't hear, and Amy snorted again. "Yes, that one. Chipmunk cheeks. He's stupider, but that's better. Easier to manipulate."

Ben's jaw dropped, caught between horror and... actually, it was just horror. He did  _not_  have chipmunk cheeks. Amy was lying.

The demon was talking over Amy now, a lazy sort of desperation. "So you don't care at all, then? Even if I said you could trade a few measly years as my host for his freedom?"

Ben snapped his jaw shut, tried to catch Amy's eyes. She didn't take the bait. "As if, ugly smoke. He's not worth that much. Neither are you. If you'd like to dump him on my doorstep, I'd adore someone else to laugh at, but other than that, I'm not interested."

What?

"Now, now, little dancer. You don't want to be hasty. Your brother's life is on the line-"

"My  _brother_ _,_  thanks," she said, and she caught Ben's eyes. He could see the seriousness. This part, at least, was true. "Is standing about twenty feet away and he looks like he just swallowed his own tongue. I prefer that one. Unless you have a more interesting offer, I think this call is over."

Silence. The demon was angry, Ben could tell. He'd expected to get Amy right where he wanted her, and she'd turned him down. "That will be all, little dancer. If you want to-"

"I don't," Amy told him, and she hung up.

 


	86. A Dance & A Chance

Ben couldn't sleep. 

This wasn't a unique development, but it was a distressing one. They were leaving in the morning. Sam, with that WiFi Signal of Worry emblazoned across his forehead, had insisted they would do better if they got a full night's rest. He'd rambled on a bit about failing on past hunts because he stumbled and was tired, but that was mostly for Dean's benefit. 

Ben could tell that Sam was worried for his brother. The Mark was taking its toll. Ben could see that after only a couple weeks of living with Dean. He was tight, on edge, darker than he had to be. Every hunter was dark and twisted; you  _had_  to be, to spend your life killing. Ben didn't escape on that front either. 

Ben knew he wasn't the same person that he had been when he'd walked into the shop that fateful day, the little book of clues stored safely away in his top drawer and his memories stored safely away in his subconscious. It had been a Wednesday, he remembered that much, when the red car had come into the shop. 

The Ben that came out on the other side of that ghostly car wasn't the same Ben that had berated yet another customer for failing to replace their brake lines. 

He just hoped that this Ben was better. Somehow.

But anyway. Dean. Sam was doing all he could to make sure Dean was doing as well as he could be, given the circumstances. Lots of sleep, lots of egg whites, lots of salad. The healthy lifestyle, between shooting things. 

The body was haunting Ben. The pieces of the body. The blank look in its eyes, sick and dull and sunken. How the intestines had been...

Music.

Ben could hear music. 

It wasn't just in his mind, he didn't think. Not that it would all that unexpected, after being kidnapped and shot. Or was it shot and kidnapped?

_Does the order really matter, Ben?_

_Shut up._

The bunker halls really were amazing; in the right place, you could hear from dozens of rooms away. And in this case, Ben was hearing weird music. It was some sort of remix, he thought, though surprisingly professional sounding. He followed it, backtracking and standing in confusion at regular intervals until he found the source. 

It was Amy. She was dancing, back facing the door, headphones in a glass bowl rattling out music. Amy was surprisingly flexible, legs high and low, whipping around like she was in the middle of a fight with midair. Her arms and torso and what seemed like her  _being_  snapped with the beats. Amy wasn't elegant or beautiful or professional, but she was powerful. Music seemed to weave itself with her movements, and Ben leant against the doorway, a warm sort of awe suffusing him. 

Ben liked music. ACDC rocked. Rock and roll was pretty great. Music was for movies; for telling when Darth Vader was coming onscreen or when a couple was about to confess their love. Music could be a soundtrack to real life too, life in the shop, at home, the radio blending indistinguishable Top 40 into the sound of water running or footsteps on the floor above.

For the first time, Ben saw how music could show joy.

 _Little dancer_ _,_  the demon had said, but Amy's dancing was anything but little. Every movement was expansive, sharp or soft but always purposeful.

Amy danced like she was living.

Ben knew that Amy knew that he was watching. It was in the way her shoulders tightened, the way her arms roped with muscle. He knew the flip was purely for his benefit, but that didn't stop him from gaping as she did a second front walkover, almost in slow motion, landing precisely in front of him. 

"Hey, stalker," she said. Her face was red, colour flagged high on her cheeks, sweat sticking tendrils of hair to the side of her face. She shifted, foot to foot, heel to toe, and it was odd. Usually Amy was pretty comfortable in her own skin, in staying still. It was fascinating to see her as some of her friends must have seen her - a dancer. She'd always been graceful when she needed to be, and practically catlike at staying on her feet. 

This was where that came from. To a friend, to someone who knew her before her life went to shit, this is what they saw first and foremost. A dancer, a girl who could bend herself and feel music like she could feel a gust of wind. Who could move with it like she was being lifted off her feet. 

Ben had seen Amy as a hunter, then an oddity, then a friend. It almost broke his brain to try and see it like others would. Was this the girl she'd been before everything went downhill? Amy stretched occasionally, yes, but Ben had never seen her dance. He didn't know if she did.

"Couldn't sleep?" Amy snapped her fingers, and Ben blinked back to reality. "Hello? Anybody in there? Yes, I know I look like a tomato, you don't need to stare."

"What?" Oops. Ben drifted off into La La Land  _far_  too often. "Yeah. No!" He scratched his head, aching dully from lack of sleep. His thoughts weren't exactly making sense at this hour of the night. Morning. Whichever it was. So much for getting a full night of sleep. "Couldn't sleep, but you don't look like a tomato."

"You don't need to lie," Amy said dryly, but her eyes were gentle. "There's these strange things called mirrors, you know. I've used them once or twice. Nightmares?"

"Yeah, I've heard of the concept. They're pretty great for not  _running your car into things_ when you drive, which is  _wh_ _y_ you don't drive my car." 

"That was  _once_!" Amy protested. "And it wasn't  _your_ car, so I have no idea why you care."

"That," Ben said grandly, slumping back against the door, "Is why you don't tell your mechanic friend of that time when you failed your drivers test by backing your car into a light post."

"Oh, shut it, Braeden. Like you haven't mowed over your share of inanimate objects." Another antsy little shift. One finger was tapping along with the music. 

"No, actually." This was a point of pride for Ben. "Never. Not even a traffic cone. Unlike  _some_  people, I took the time to learn the basic skills and then  _practiced_ them until I could do them in my sleep."

"Oh, nobody cares, Benny boy." She affected a truly awful baritone that Ben shuddered to think was an interpretation of his voice. Maybe she was deaf. " 'I can drive like a pro! But I still need my friend to schmooze all the information out of the authors! And stab all the demons!' "

"That was because  _you_  wouldn't share the knife!"

"Well, that's cause your knife skills suck."

"Not worse than your driving skills!"

Amy whistled. Her eyes sparkled. "Well, well, well, Bib. Looks like you've got some mojo after all."

Ben's face flamed. "Whatever."

Amy shook her head, shook it again, then rolled it all the way around. Ben stared. She rolled her eyes. "Look, I haven't had a chance to dance-"

"A chaaaaance!" Ben sang, straightening up and flinging an arm out. "To daaaaance!"

"Oh," Amy said. "My gosh. Would you let me finish my sen-"

"Nope!" Ben grinned. Amy groaned. 

"Fine then, Ben. Stand there and serenade me all you like. But  _I_ ," and Amy put her hands on her hips, bent all the way over sideways and Ben's jaw dropped out of his skull. Did she not have any ribs? "-will be getting the rest of my jitterbugs out." And again, over to the other side. No, Ben decided, no, she didn't have ribs. 

Amy stood straight, fixed him with a glare that would have looked a lot more intimidating if she didn't look like a tomato. "If you want to stay, you can. But don't get in the way."

Ben knew that having him there wasn't nearly as relaxing as having him gone, could see the evidence in her high set shoulders and tapping fingers. But he didn't want to be alone, not after reliving the blood and bone and marrow of the chihuahua murder. Not after having the corpse blink its hollowed eyes and stand on a colon and stream of blood and step towards Ben, its stomach thumping across the floorboards behind it, connected by a line of red-soaked sinew and calling,  _Your fault, you were there, you weren't fast enough, you weren't good enough, you held them back, you-_

"Yeah," Ben said. Stepped inside, slid down the wall. "I'd like that."

Amy shrugged, an edge of tension rolling off them. "Alright, then. Whatever you like."

And she clicked her phone back to the beginning of the song and started again. Head up, arm over to collapse in on herself, sweep her feet in, jump and-

"Do you dream about it?" Ben said, and she half-stumbled, turned it into a roll to the ground and pop up again. He didn't say who, or what, but Amy had closed her eyes, dropping to her knees and rolling. 

He didn't know if that was part of the routine or something worse.

"Always," she said, and it was nearly lost in the music. "Even if it's not the focus of the dream, I'll see something." Backwards somersault, and back to her feet and stretch back. "Ragged nails." A kick. "A frame of cartilage around a picture." Step, hop, and leap. Maybe so she had an excuse to be out of breath when she said, "A splatter of blood or something worse."

Ben closed his eyes, tipped his head back against the wall and let himself sink into the music, the air, and the fact that Amy was dancing somewhere close. Something settled inside him. 

"We'll never be okay, will we." he said, and it wasn't a question. 

Light flickered against his eyelids, a figure blocking light for a split second. Amy breathed, reached, and pink spread back across everything. 

"No," she said. "But we can pretend."

 


	87. Road Trips & A Prius

There was something different about this road trip, Ben reflected. Wind buzzed by outside the window, the asphalt dipping into sun shimmer up ahead. Amy muttered with Sam in the back seat, and oh, yes, Dean sulking in the passenger seat.

That was the best part. Ben was driving, with his super special non-crashing skills. And not only was Ben driving, but he was driving his own car. Ben was driving, driving his own car, and there was nothing Dean could do about it. 

It was the good sort of different. Bit of a change from the usual fare. But hey, Ben wasn't complaining.

Dean was doing that for him.

"Why can't I drive?" he asked, for the fiftieth time. If it was anyone but Dean, Ben would have accused them of whining. Only the sheer number of weapons Ben knew Dean had on his person was stopping him from pointing that out. "I've got more experience-"

"In your car," Ben reminded him, "Not mine. They're tuned differently. I don't want you wrecking my clutch."

Dean sputtered, and it was maybe a quarter in jest. That was the thing about Dean. He always took cars seriously. So did Ben, if he was being honest about it. "Excuse me? I've never had to replace the clutch!"

Sam looked up, and Ben caught the start of a bitchface in the mirror before Ben looked back at the road. Unlike the Winchesters, he wasn't magical. Ben actually had to  _look_  at the road to stay on track. On that front, sure, Dean had him beat. But Ben was pretty sure when one of the many people he knew had done a demon deal, they'd added that in as an addendum. There was literally no other possible explanation.

Not that the Winchesters were much for following reality in any other way, but whatever.

"Except maybe five times," Sam said. Held up a hand, counted on his fingers. "That time when Dad was teaching me how to drive-"

"-wasn't  _my_  fault, though, so it doesn't count."

Undeterred, Sam continued, another finger up. "Then that time we got T-boned by a truck-"

"-you got  _what_?" Ben was gaping again, barely able to keep his eyes on the road. Last time he checked, getting T-boned ended up with you  _dead_. And T-boned by a  _truck_? Were the Winchesters magical? Was that it? Was there some sort of higher power creating a conspiracy?

"-I was in the  _back_  seat, Sammy, it was so not my fault. Again."

Sam rolled his eyes, partially concealed by his mop of hair. "Then that time you rebuilt the Impala from the ground up."

Dean snorted. Ben tried to reattach his jaw to his face. Man, when he thought he'd reached the bottom of the Winchester Weird Well™, he was wrong. "Which time?"

"When-"

"Um," Amy said. She looked like she had swallowed a smile and then choked on it, barely able to hold back laughter. "This is super entertaining and all, but is this relevant to defeating a compound full of demons?"

Ben risked it. He checked everyone's expressions, and was  _so_  glad he did. If he could make a compilation of The Best Of Faces, he would get some sort of photography award. They really were something,  _especially_  Sam. 

"...no."

Amy let her grin out full force. "Well, then."

Dean grumbled his way back to staring back out the window, and Sam resumed his hushed conversation about "newsprint" and "drag him?" and "perforate".

Possibly Ben was hearing them wrong. There was an awful lot of road rage on this highway. The lane was getting clogged. Again. That was almost enough to make him wish he didn't have to drive.

Almost.

"Your car  _is_  nice," Dean said. Grudgingly. 

Ben shot him a startled look. Flicked on the turn signal, went to switch lanes. A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. "Thanks."

Dean's eyes twinkled. "Not as nice as Baby, though."

If Ben wasn't in the middle of switching lanes on a busy highway, he would have smacked his head against the steering wheel. "Really, Dean?"

Dean stretched out, put his arms behind his head. On one hand, it was nice (and weird) to see him so at ease, but on the other hand, he was an asshole. 

"What kind of name is Apple, anyway?" Dean said, and the shit-eating on his face was filling in little gaps in Ben's early memories. His heart jolted. Dean looked like... Dean looked like  _Dean_  again. "It sounds juvenile." Another, intensified grin. " _My_  car has a good name. Meaningful, you know."

"Dean," Sam said. "Your car's name is Baby."

"Exactly."

"Hey!" Ben said. Jerked a thumb over his shoulder, at an Amy that wasn't achieving her goal of looking innocent. " _I_  didn't name it. Ask her!"

Dean scoffed. "You didn't name your own car?"

Ben scowled, changed lanes again. It looked like a traffic jam in the making, which was just  _great_. It's not like they had a timetable to save the world from an overambitious king of hell with a super weapon or anything.  _Oh wait._

"I was just going to call it 'My Impala', and it was  _fine_  for two years." Another car swerved into their path, and Ben had to slam on the brakes. Amy fake-cursed at him about imagined whiplash. He rolled his eyes at her through the mirror. 

"Please, Braden," Amy said, once she was done complaining. The road around them was a sea of honks and red tail lights. It wasn't a pretty sight. "That's a terrible name." A pause. "That's not even a name, actually."

"Whatever." Ben slammed on the horn as blue Prius wedged itself into the non-existent space in front of the Apple. "Hey! Watch it, jerk!" And he laid on the horn again until Amy kicked the back of his seat.

"Ow." she complained. "Are you interested in preserving your hearing?"

"No."

A snort. "Road rage, much? Chill, Benny boy. It's just-"

The Prius' door creaked open, and a man stepped out. He had brown hair, a brown beard, and a very lumpy forehead. His t-shirt said  _REDUCE REUSE RECYCLE_ , which was about typical for the sort of weirdo that bought a hybrid car.

What wasn't exactly hippie-typical was his eyes. They were oil black.

 


	88. Plot Twists & Keys

Everyone froze. Except Amy, who took the time to whisper " _Plot twiiiiist_ ," then froze.

Maybe the demon wasn't there for them. Maybe it was feeding off the road rage. Maybe it was taking a joy ride in a treehugger. Maybe it... yeah, it was totally there for them.

It stalked for the door of the Apple, and Ben's stomach turned over. Before anyone else could do anything (besides draw weapons, because everyone had like five knives visible right now), he opened the door of the car and hopped out.

Hey, it was instinct. Ben trusted his instinct. It didn't steer him wrong often.

 _Uh_ , Imaginary-Amy said.  _Lamp to a gunfight?_

How many times was that going to come up? It was once, okay?

_Lamp-_

_Shut up._

Ben made STAY motions, grinned at the demon. It's step stuttered, confused. Ben made a STAY motion at the car again, glared at each of them in turn, then turned back to the demon. Cars around them were starting to pull away, the jam easing up. Unfortunate souls in the lane behind them honked. Ben pretended he was deaf.

"Hey," he said. "Fancy meeting you here!"

"Yeah," the demon growled, and Ben nearly gagged on the scent of sulphur. It was always startling to be so close to a demon. Every time, Ben convinced himself that he'd exaggerated the stench or the bottomless sheen of their eyes. "Fancy that."

Clearly, this demon was  _so_  intelligent. It was about Ben level on the comeback front. Which was pathetic.

"Fancy that," Ben repeated, and wanted to smack himself upside the head. He cleared his throat, settled his Angry Customer face solidly into face. "Any particular reason you're here?" He pretended to think. "The usual? Murder, mayhem, destruction?"

Somehow, he could tell Amy was snickering.

The demon leered, teeth perfectly, eerily, straight. That, more than anything else, set Ben on edge. It was too real for something as fanciful as a demon. 

"Murder," it said, unsurprisingly. Another leer, lips pulled unnaturally far from his sparkling teeth. "Yours."

Ben almost sighed, transforming it into a smile at the last moment. The space around them was emptying fast, cars zipping by. Wind buffeted him from both sides. Tired, he said: "Really?"

In response, the demon pulled a trowel. The edge gleamed, razor sharp. Faintly, Ben could make out the words  _LEAVE NO TRACE_  across the middle of the blade. He couldn't decide if that was the hippie's motto or the demon's. 

Probably not the demon. Demons lived for disaster and torture. Neither of which were particularly stealthy activities.

" _Really_ ," the demon hissed back, and waggled the sharpened trowel at Ben. Somehow, the Winchesters hadn't interfered, but he was guessing either a) Sam was keeping Dean under control b) Amy was keeping the both of them under control or c) Gabriel was keeping the both of them under control. No way was Dean sitting pretty without some sort of meddling happening. 

Also somehow, none of the passing drivers were stopping and/or rubbernecking at the duo that was duking it out in the centre lane. Demon aura, common sense, or some combination of the elements was in play.

"Well," Ben said, sighed, ignoring the demon stalking at him. It got closer, closer. He couldn't have sounded more bored if he tried. "Guess it's gonna get bloody, then."

"Very bloo-"

Ben stabbed him. 

The demon shrieked and dropped, sparking orange and red and electric, the ornately carved demon knife sticking out of it's side. Numbness settled over Ben, and he raised an eyebrow at the demon's body. He didn't feel guilty, he decided. There'd been the imprint of a bullet in the hippie's forehead. Not exactly a survivable injury. He had killed the demon, that's all.

Footsteps rattled behind him. Doors creaked. Dean stepped up to Ben's left, emanating shock. Sam followed, on Ben's other side. Ben glanced back at the apple, Amy-or-Gabriel still chilling in the car. She raised an eyebrow, her eyes flashed blue, and she slumped back into Amy again. 

Amy rolled her eyes at him. 

"Not to be rude," Dean said. "But-"

"You know," Ben said philosophically. "That phrase always precedes something rude." He looked at Dean. "Yes, Dean. Demon." He brandished the knife. "Stabby-stabby-stab."

"That was... effective," Sam admitted. His hair whipped in the slipstream. It was very distracting. "How come you..."

Ben pointed with his knife at the dead hippie. There was a splotch of dried blood caked in his collar, far from where Ben had stabbed the demon. It was old, and his forehead was dented. This man had been dead far before Ben went all, as he'd said so eloquently, 'stabby-stabby-stab'.

"Huh," Sam said. Leant back, weight on one of his heels. "Yeah. Guess the host was already dead. A while ago, looks like."

Ben shrugged. "Yeah. I mean, if the host wasn't dead, that stomach-hit wouldn't have killed him just like that. The demon would've died, but the host would have screamed and probably tried to bite my ankles or something."

Sam raised an eyebrow. Ben went red, blood flooding back through him. His fingers unfroze slightly from the knife, and he looked down, surprised to see them white-knuckled. Ben's breathing started to accelerate, too, reality seeping back in. 

Oh god. Had he really done that? Killed a demon, bantered, cool as a cucumber? What sort of person was he becoming?

What sort of person  _was_  he?

Dean clapped him on the shoulder, and Ben startled so badly he nearly tripped over his own feet. "Ben? You okay?"

Ben blinked a couple times, just to check that everything still worked. "Yeah. Fine." He didn't look down, turning on his heel and striding back to the Apple. Sam and Dean lingered, making sounds that sounded very much like they were picking up the body. Ben pointedly did not look at them.

Amy was waiting for him when he slid into the drivers seat, her serious face on. "He was already dead?"

Ben nodded. "Bullet to the head, looked like." He hesitated. "I would've... I don't think I would have stabbed him if he — the host, that actual hippie guy — wasn't dead." He wouldn't have. Right? "I wouldn't have."

"Right." Amy said, but she didn't sound any more convinced than he did. "Make sure you keep that as your last resort at the compound."

"I will."

A short silence, then a creak, and a thump. Ben tried very, very hard not to think of his trunk or the fact that it was body sized. 

Amy prodded him, and he glanced over. Somehow, after everything, she was grinning. 

"So," she said, and her face  _screamed_  ulterior motive. "Are you okay?"

"Um," Ben said. He wasn't sure if he was okay. But more importantly, he wasn't sure what Amy was trying to manipulate him into saying. 

She raised an eyebrow. "If you're not okay, that's uh... okay." Amy winced. "That was a fail. Anyway, you don't have to be okay."

"...okay."

She perked up visibly, straightening and plastering a truly frightening grin to her face. "So you don't want to drive, then? You're not capable! Okay!"

And she grabbed his keys.

Ben shrieked, flailed at her, but Amy wasn't playing fair. She rattled the keys against the window (she was going to  _scratch_  it, didn't she know anything?!) and cackling. Ben hauled his door open, lunged out, stumbling over his feet. Amy zapped herself back a few feet at a time, jangling his keys at him. 

Once, he tried to tackle her, but she vanished just as he jumped and he ended up with a faceful of asphalt. And then realized that if he kept this up he'd probably be hit by a car. They were on the highway, after all.

Ben sulked back to the car, only to get hit in the face by his keys, almost taking his eye out. He shrieked again, scrabbled to catch them before they hit the ground. Amy caught his eyes, and they weren't laughing. They were almost calculating.

That was when Ben got it. This was orchestrated. She hadn't just stolen his keys for the sole sake of being irritating. She'd stolen his keys because she'd seen him on a dangerous downward tilt. She'd stolen his keys, and now he was fine. 

Ben would never deserve her. He didn't deserve such an amazing friend when he was such a ridiculous mess. He didn't deserve a friend that he'd just tear down, like he already had. 

"Hey," she said, and his head snapped up. Her eyes were bright grey, softer now. "It's just keys, Braeden. Chill."

Ben knew it wasn't. But he smiled anyway, and slid into the car. Sam and Dean followed, and they all pretended everything was normal.

Ben turned in his seat, stared down the rest of the car. "Alright," he said. "We're gonna change our plan."

 


	89. Ingenious Plans & Placemats

The thing about a green Impala — it wasn't exactly subtle. They couldn't roll past the ("probably homophobic" Amy muttered, prompting a ten minute long argument on whether or not demons could be homophobic. Eventually, Sam and Dean intervened, but not until after they'd started shouting.) guards. Sam and Dean were some of the most recognizable hunters in the world. An Impala, regardless of colour, appearing near a demon-owned Wal-Mart would raise suspicion.

There were two solutions to this problem, if they were going with the sneaking route instead of the full frontal assault route. Which they  _were_ , thank you very much. Ben was adamant that they at least  _try_  to avoid some demons. He wasn't in the mood to get ventilated. That had been painful enough the first time.

But anyway. There were two solutions. One: ditch the Impala. It was pretty easy to guess what Ben's opinion was on that.

It wasn't happening.

Or two: Be devious.  _Really_  devious. Amy-checked-Ben-for-demonic-possession-because-it-was-that-smart devious. Ben didn't appreciate that. 

The Apple puttered up to the front door the Wal-Mart, Ben at the wheel, Amy in the passenger seat. Ben was trying very, very hard not to wince, because this car smelled  _awful_. Rotten eggs. Chemical. His eyes were itching and stinging. Also, if Amy glared at him any harder there'd be a smoking hole in the side of his head.

There was a greeter at the door, which Ben had always thought was one of the creepier things about Wal-Mart. Someone ran up to you, got  _way_  up in your personal space, and said "Have a nice day" in the same tone most people said, "I hope you burn for your sins". 

This greeter was a demon, which put it right up there with Ben's Top 10 favourite Wal-Mart experiences. There shouldn't have been a greeter. This location was closed, the logo fizzing forlornly and dangling by cords. The concrete was worn and cracked, the paint in blue streaks like scars. The building looked like it had been through hell, which wasn't quite accurate. It  _was_  hell.

The greeter was at their car in a flash, black eyes roiling. Ben rolled down the window, still grinning. Hellishly. 

The demon didn't kill him on sight, which was great. The plan was working. He just wished the plan didn't mean an imaginary hole in the side of his head, a smell that was giving him a headache, and stains on his car seat. They were  _never_  going to come out.

"What's going on here?"

Demons, Ben decided, were pretty much all white. He wasn't sure wether to get irritated over the inequality, or laugh because really, it was about typical.

"Well," Ben drawled, spooling the words out over his tongue like honey. "I've been a little busy. Got presents for  _two_  of the high-and-mighties."

Amy made a gargling noise, something like a scream, and Ben cracked his smile wider at the seams. His eyes were itching like mad. "Got a bit feisty, but easy enough to capture. She trusts this one-" he gestured at himself, which was weird. "-and trusted me."

He gave the demon a look as if to say,  _Isn't that hilarious?_  Amy spat on him. Ben didn't have to fake the disgust, but he mentally apologized when he slapped her away. She squeaked, and he wanted Dean to spring up from the backseat and just kill the demon. Maybe this plan was too stupid. 

The demon laughed, throwing its head back and closing those oil-black eyes for a split, relieving second. Ben caught Amy's eyes in the mirror, tried to say  _Sorry_  through his inky black contact lenses. 

If he didn't know for a fact that he wasn't a demon, he almost would have believed it. Sulphur was easy enough to procure a sample of, contact lenses on sale after a local fan convention. Ben was the perfect picture of a demon, smug and sure in a stolen body, toting a facedown bloody body in the backseat and a tied and gagged girl in the front. 

By the time the demon had finished laughing its face off, Ben was back in demon mode. Someday, Ben would make a pretty great actor. Roles were easy to slip into. Respectful. Mechanic. And now, apparently, demon. Ben was a regular shapeshifter.

"Go ahead," the demon said, and Ben grinned wider, the muscles in his face starting to twitch. Not good. Fast as he could, he pulled away, trying not to look at his freaky eyes in the mirror. 

Dean gasped in the back, and Ben nearly had a heart attack. Amy kicked him, which she could do, because her feet weren't actually tied. Thankfully, she was also not wearing her deadly riding boots, and Ben didn't break anything. He liked the small mercies.

"Is it gone?" Dean hissed, and Ben resisted the urge to punch him.

"Yeah," he muttered back, still grinning the Demon Grin in case the  _actual_  demon could catch a glance of Ben's face in the rearview mirror. Stranger things had happened. "But if he  _wasn't_ , you could have given it away. Go back to acting dead."

"Acting dead is  _hard_ ," Dean complained, but he slumped back facedown. Through the (stained) seat: "I gotta breathe, you know."

Ben rolled his eyes, started to chug the Apple into a parking spot. The lot was nearly empty, but there were a few mix n' match dented cars parked way wrong. There was a Mercedes, a Jaguar (Ben was sensing a trend here), and last but not least, the blingiest blinged out Impala that Ben had ever seen. It was an affront to humanity. 

Ben got out of the car and sauntered over to the watching demon. The demon was frowning. "Aren't you gonna bring the gifts in?"

Ben didn't drop his smile. "Yeah. I just wanted to show you something first." He didn't really know how to grin lasciviously, but he sure tried. "I know you'll wanna see it."

The demon tried not to look interested, but it was even worse at acting than Ben was. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Ben said, and shoved a placemat in its face. The demon went down, hard, and Ben spewed off the exorcism in record time, all while kneeling on the demons shoulders and getting punched in the kidney.

The demon  _howled_ , screaming out a geyser of black smoke. It twisted down, down, right through the ground a foot from Ben's head. The host sagged, hand thudding down halfway through the first accurate blow. Ben let out a breath, rolled off the man. The Apple creaked behind him, and Ben didn't have to look to know that Dean was letting Sam out of the back.

The man had a pulse, thank god. Ben didn't know much, didn't have the multitasking power to count seconds and heartbeats at the same time, but it didn't seem too weak. There was no blood on the man's clothes, no oddly twisted limbs. Physically, the man looked... fine. His mind was another story, but at least Ben hadn't killed him. Ben let out a long breath.

"Hey!" Amy called, and there was a loud and painful sounding thud. "Yo! Princess! Princess Braeden with the car of fruit! Can you help me over here?"

Ben gave the sleeping man one last look, and went to help Amy up. The first part of the plan was going, well... according to plan. They could do it. They could do this. No problem. Nothing was going to go wrong.

 


	90. No WalMart Chill & A Welcome

Something went wrong.

Oh, sure, at first it was all going fine and dandy. They made it in the front door. They made it through the first couple walls of shelves, littered with toys made by child labour and sweatpants made in sweat shops. 

Nobody but Ben cared, of course, but whatever. 

It was eerily easy to be silent, what with the rhythmic metallic  _clangs_  in the distance. Ben hardly breathed, sweat making his grip on the knife slick. He couldn't drop it. That would be Bad. Ben slid it into his other hand, started to scrub his palm on his jeans, and of course, that's when everything went very, very wrong. 

A demon dropped from the ceiling. The  _ceiling_. Like this day couldn't get any more insane. 

Ben had enough time to shriek at the top of his lungs before the demon lunged for his throat, the fact that he was collaborating with the Winchesters seemingly more important than his (really itchy) oil-black eyes and sulphur cologne.

The demon was inches from his throat when he hit a sudden invisible wall and wailed like a baby, screwing its entire face into one giant wrinkle. Ben screamed again, just for good measure, switched the knife back to his right hand, and spun back around.

Amy was on her knees, hand outstretched, face contorted in pain. Ben followed her rigid fingers, and his mouth dropped open. There was a perfect Devil's Trap burned into the floor around the demon, one that Ben was 100% sure hadn't been there seconds before.

"Fuck you," Amy said, and Ben nearly had a heart attack before he realized she was talking to herself. Or more specifically, Gabriel. "Seriously."

"Don't swear," Ben admonished. "It doesn't suit you."

Amy looked up, realized her hand was still out, and curled it into her chest. Ben nearly had another heart attack when he saw her fingers — they were burned, like she'd drawn the scorch marks in the floor herself. "Oh, don't even, Braeden. I can swear if I like."

"Well," Ben said, "You usually don't like. What the hell was that?"

"Don't swear."

Ben groaned, offered her his non-knife-occupied hand. Amy took it, practically tipping him over as she hauled herself to her feet. Her eyes were angry and glassed, like she was having one heck of a mental argument. She probably was. 

"Um," Sam said, and Ben spared him a glance. His hair was floofing forward over his face, his angel blade clutched tight. "What just happened?"

"Well," Amy said, in such an overly reasonable tone that Ben's skin crawled. "Gabriel has decided to go bye-bye for this little venture. Says he doesn't want to get caught out." A smile, slightly dimmer than a 100 watt bulb. "So that means nothing ut maybe short-range teleports unless I want it to feel like I'm extracting my spleen via my nostril."

This conversation was slightly familiar. "Your spleen?" Ben asked, just to be irritating. "Specifically your spleen?"

"No," Amy said. "Specifically my pancreas- Yes, Bib, specifically my spleen." She pressed a hand to her ribs, her upper left. "Excruciating pain near the back of my upper left ribcage. I  _did_  pay attention in biology, you know."

"Fascinating," Dean said. He didn't sound fascinated. "We just made a  _lot_  of noise." He gestured at the squirming demon, pounding silently against midair. It was a pretty convincing mime show. "And are we going to do anything about this?"

" _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_ ," Ben said, instead of answering. The demon shrieked again. Faintly, he could hear footsteps. Someone was coming. 

"Awesome," Amy said, examined her fingers as Ben recited the exorcism and ignored the screaming demon. Blue sparks were jumping across her fingers like she'd connected them to a light socket, and the redness was fading. Gabriel was good for something at least. 

The demon bellowed out its smoke, and this time Sam was the one to check for signs of life. "Pulse," he said, "Slow, but steady. No visible bleeding or broken bones."

"Lucky," Dean grunted. "They just haven't been established in these bodies long enough." Sam stood, and the brothers exchanged nods. "We need to get a move on. 

"... _audi nos._ " Ben finished. "Great idea." He took one step, but Amy slapped her knife across his chest. "Ow!"

"You," Amy said. "Are not going anywhere. You need to draw the trail of traps, remember?" Her eyes clouded. "I'm not going to be able to do a last-second save again. We have to be prepared."

Ben scowled. But really, she had a point. She always seemed to have a point. It was zero fun being friends with her. "Fine."

Did he mention he hated drawing Devil's Traps? Circles. You had to have freaking perfect circles. With a perfect five pointed star. And perfect squiggly little weird drawings. At least a touch up paint stick was easier to use than a spray can. Ben didn't want to know how sucky his traps would be if he had to use a spray can.

They would all die. That's how sucky they would be. An art student, Ben was not. 

Ben knelt, spinning out traps as fast as he could while still making sure they, you know, worked. It was pretty slow. Sam was hanging back too, spreading out their rugs and doodling a couple small ones in between Ben's. 

Dean, of course, lead the attack (if you could call such a slow progression an attack), white knuckled on his angel blade, gun within easy reach, and a lovely focused and murderous face. He needed to chill. He needed another job. If Ben was going to pursue this hunter thing in the long term, he was going to have something else on the side. A home base, definitely. Maybe the bunker, maybe not. But he'd want a job, too, and to finish his degree. That was key to surviving, Ben was sure. Making sure you had things to survive for.

"Well," Ben said. "That was easy."

He really should've known better by now. As if Fate herself had been listening in, two more demons dropped from the ceiling; or, as Ben now realized, the tops of the shelves of slavery. 

Ben hit the ground hard, his ribs creaking ominously, barely avoiding the lunge of the taller demon. They both stood at the same, the demon grinning ferally, and then it lunge. Ben intercepted it halfway, Amy's lessons running through his head in flashes of colour and  _wham_ , he managed to flip the demon. It, unlike Amy, went flying into the shelf and he heard the unmistakable sound of head hitting heavy metal, and he winced. 

The demon didn't stay down long, back on its feet in a flash, but Ben was faster. He palmed his knife, the sweat gluing it to his hand, and struck. Outer thigh, where you would stab an Epi-Pen. Demon knives would kill it, without killing the host. Ben hoped.

The demon screamed, but there was no inner lightning, no screaming of black smoke. It just growled, baring teeth that were humanly dull but still frightening, and lunged again. Ben went down with a crunch, and one of his ribs  _cracked_ , and he screamed. The demon went for Ben's throat, nails cracked and dirt streaked with blood crammed all the way to the beds. Ben isn't nearly as strong as the demon, and the hands are at his throat, wrapping around, oddly cold and crushing. He's gagging, trying to kick, and the edges of vision are going black where the lenses aren't obscuring.

Then Ben's gasping, breathing again, and the demon is lit up electric and thrown off him. Dean offers a hand, blood sliding off his angel blade like it's being repelled. Ben takes it, lets himself be hauled to his feet. The other demon is dead, too, a stain spreading as it lies facedown, a bloody seeping circle in its back. Ben's stomach twists. He didn't want anyone to die. 

But he swallowed, looked away. Choked the little voice that was screaming. "Thanks."

Dean let go, slapped his back. Ben ducked and grabbed for his knife, wiped it off on the demon's shirt. "Don't mention it."

Clapping rang out, echoing off the metal and concrete. With a horrifying sort of stillness, Ben realized the clanging had stopped. Whatever had being forged wasn't doing so anymore. Oh-so-slowly, Ben turned, raising his knife, other hand resting lightly on his gun. Dean had his gun raised, Sam his knife. Amy looked about usual — simultaneously relaxed and murderous, her eyes with the starting glint of supernatural danger. 

"Well," the king of Hell said. "Isn't this a surprise. Do come in, boys. Don't feel shy." Crowley grinned, and his eyes flickered to blood. "We've got some, ah,  _things_  to talk about."

 


	91. Name Calling & A Trade

"Do I look blind?" Crowley said, surly and exasperated, and Ben felt odd. This whole thing was surreal. Black eyed demons surrounding them, Ben's eyes matching. The smell of sulphur and some sort of unearthly thing burning. Amy made a tiny, pained sound, a breath gone wrong. "No, really. Is there some sort of bloody film over my eyes that I can't see?"

He paused long enough for Ben to consider answering, and maybe Ben would have said something inadvisable, but Crowley picked up the slack before anyone could open their mouths. 

"No? Good. I was beginning to get worried." The king of hell rolled his eyes, or at least Ben thought he did. He couldn't quite tell with the whole uniform eye colour thing. But then, blink, his eyes were back to human. Darker, though. More evil. And yeah, the king of hell was totally rolling his eyes at them. "Did you morons  _think_  I didn't know what was going on? Yes, Squirrel is having problems with the bloody  _Mark_  of  _Cain_. Hilarious.

"You're trying to track down Cain — even more hilarious." Crowley didn't exactly look like he thought it was hilarious. He looked like he was getting good and into his irritation. It would be a stereotypical villain speech if not for the fact that Crowley could sometimes be helpful. There was a possibility he was actually involving them in this conversation, however one-sided. "Haven't you done any research into the Mark? If you go ahead and pop off Cain, then pry the Mark off that hairy arm of yours, Bad Things will happen."

Ben didn't really want to know what sort of things the  _king of hell_  considered Bad Things, but he had to ask. "Bad things?"

Crowley ignored him, focusing in on Amy. His eyes narrowed, flickered back to blood for the tiniest fraction of a second. "Hello, Candy Cane. You seem... different."

"Yeah," Amy said. Ben glanced over, and if he didn't know it was  _Amy_ , not Gabriel, he would have been confused. The set of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin, that was Gabriel. The confidence, too. Amy could be confident, but it was a natural confidence, not one that caked onto her skin like ice and clattered to the floor when she shifted. "You're still a douche. Some things stay the same, I guess."

That was when Ben finally looked at what was in front of him. Tate was in the shadows of the shelf, his face twisted so tight it had to be aching, tapping the edge of a knife against his palm, almost like he would a baseball bat. His clothes were dark, but there was a tell-tale streak of caked darkness against the base of his throat.

Ben swallowed, resisting the urge to clap a hand to his own neck. Demons froze injuries, he knew that. Up close, he knew. A memory he wished had stayed hidden crashed home with the force of a tsunami and Ben let out a cry, stumbled a step sideways.

_His mother with those awful black eyes. His mother's screams, dark laughter behind it. The warm trickling of blood against his skin, the sharp coolness of a knife against his throat and his mother's hair tickling his cheek as she laughed, laughed._

And then.

More.

He'd nearly forgotten, forgotten how it had gotten from memory one to memory two, from the knife at his throat to—  _his mother's hair shorter than he'd seen it in years tumbling down from Dean's arms. He was scared, scared, scared. The roar of a gun, recoil cracking painfully against his hands, wrist, chest, the dark waves of his mother's hair dancing in front of him as he ran, ran, ran._

He'd nearly forgotten the dark way the demon wearing his mother's skin had snarled. Had plunged the knife into its own stomach for spite, for a desperate attempt to stay inside Lisa's skin. 

But Dean had turned it down, taken Lisa's death instead of her life as a shell. And Ben was glad, so glad he'd done because it would have a special sort of hell to have her dead, but an unimaginable damnation to know that she was alive and gone. 

It hadn't hurt the demon to be stabbed like that, it wouldn't have killed it. Not with an ordinary weapon. But for Lisa? For... for Amy's brother, with a curl of dried blood resting along his collar? It could be deadly. It would be deadly. Castiel had saved Lisa, at Dean's behest. He could only hope Gabriel would crawl out of the depth's of Amy and heal her brother. He owed her that, at least. 

"So," Crowley was going on about himself again, Ben could just  _tell_. The accent was getting grating. "Excuse me if I want to be  _prepared_."

Sam huffed, and Ben's eyes snapped over. He had the  _Oh-I-Get-It-Now_  face, that was somehow also an  _Ugh_  bitchface. "The angel blades. The forge."

"Precisely, Moose." Crowley seemed almost  _too_  happy with all of this. Ben tightened his grip on the blade. There was something fishy going on, and he couldn't quite tell what. "Angel blades  _are_  the most powerful weapons anyone can get their hands on. And with bullets, we can shoot whatever comes out of the darkness far away and personal. I'm not going to let your misguided morals — or whatever the hell made you come on this fiasco of a road trip — mess with production."

They all frowned in unison.

"For a king," Amy said, in the sort of tone that was probably extremely inadvisable to use with the  _king_  of  _hell_ , "You sure don't understand your subjects. As fun as it sounds, we're not here to screw with your business model." She paused long enough to take a breath, crack off some of the unwieldy grace, and long enough for Ben to think that,  _wow_ , having her brother around really did loosen her profanity filters. He didn't think he liked it. It felt too much like... like she was trying to change herself into someone her brother would like. "We're here for two things."

"Only two?" Crowley deadpanned, but Ben could see his surprise. It looked odd on a long dead irritated scotsman.

Dean stepped forward, and Ben was 100% aware that it placed Dean in the more direct line of fire... and shielded Ben a little. The man needed to stop. His life was no less valuable than any others. Jeez. "Look, we need the knife back."

Amy popped her new knife back into... somewhere... and tried to look suitably put out. "I just miss it." A pause. She glanced at Ben, raised an eyebrow, and  _far_  more melodramatically: "I miss it like it was a  _piece_  of me."

Ben rolled his eyes at her. 

Dean held out his knife, while still managing to look like he could kill all the demons with a paper clip. "We're willing to trade. Amy is um," He looked at her, and realized that this was probably the first time he'd directly talked to her. "Inconsolable?"

Amy nodded, sticking her bottom lip out and blinking rapidly. She looked like she was having a coronary, really. "Inconsolable," she confirmed. "I'm making everyone really sad."

Crowley squinted. He knew something was up. To be fair, something was  _always_  up with the Winchesters. "Do I look like an idiot?"

Ben begged God to not let Amy say  _Yes_.

Silence. Thank god. Literally.

"Right then." Crowley rummaged in his pocket, pulled out the knife. It seemed just a little too bright in the dim WalMart Hell light, and Ben again pleaded with any deity that would listen that Crowley wouldn't notice the difference. 

Crowley stared at Dean. He stared at the knife in his palm. At the knife in Dean's. Then he sighed, and chucked it at Amy's feet. Dean tossed his knife at one of the minions. Nobody caught fire or decided to murder anyone else. "Fine. Be stupid, if you like. You're certainly good at it."

"Takes one to know one," Amy replied, because it had been too long since she made a really unfortunate comment. 

"And the other thing?

This was the difficult one. After all their planning, they still hadn't figured out how to ask for it. How to ask for it, and actually have it  _happen_. Yeah, Crowley, hand over your super powerful right hand man. 

"My brother."

Ben stopped breathing. Yeah, Amy, why use tact when you could be  _monumentally stupid?_ That was it. The both of them had been spending too much time around the Winchesters.

"No," the demon said, and stepped out of the shadows. This time, Amy didn't squeak, but she went ghost white. "I will not."

Crowley looked over, like he was just seeing the resemblance for the first time. "Oh. How interesting. Have to say, I didn't see that coming."

"You don't see much," the demon growled, the knife stilling. It was just an ordinary one, but Ben knew all too well how much damage one ordinary knife could do. "Or you'd notice  _me_."

Ben had enough time to think,  _Crap_ , before he was thrown against the shelves of slavery, along with the rest of the minions, Winchesters, and incredibly, the King of Hell. Everything went fuzzy, staticked, but Ben could see the one other person left standing. 

Amy.

 


	92. Power & Terror

The demon growled, full out  _growled_ , a rumbling, rattling sound that made Ben's skin crawl under the invisible restraints. All the old unease roared back, and he sagged, a sickening mix of terror and anger swilling in his stomach. 

Looked like it had been longer than six months. Oh god.  _Much_  longer than six months. If teleportation came in at six months, and only the fucking  _king_  had that power on earth, what kind of power did the demon have?

This was bad. This was very bad.

This was very, very bad.

Amy was glowing softly at the edges, lit from within with swirling blue. Ben could see shadows collecting on her back, and he nearly swallowed his tongue. But he could see her eyes, see the squint and the scowl and the  _pain_  that was Amy, not Gabriel.

This was very, very,  _very_  bad.

Ben should have known. Amy couldn't have become a badass, a hunter, been able to cope with the loss of her parents in under six months. It just wasn't realistic. He had been  _blind_. 

"What  _are_  you?" the demon said, and Ben could have heard a pin drop. Even though it felt like hurricane-force winds were gluing him to the shelves, it was utterly silent. Only the demon's power was keeping them trapped. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam and Dean with their weapons out, prepared to strike if they were dropped. Crowley just looked pissed off.

The demon shoved out his hand, right at Amy, and the hold around Ben loosened a fraction. A shockwave tore across the room, a bubble of pure power. Amy went up in sparks, electricity leaping and jolting off her skin.

She didn't budge. Her knife was still held high, her eyes still  _her_. She looked dangerous, a creature of light and blue fire, eyes blazing with pain and anger. "You," Amy said. "Have made a mistake."

Not a huge mistake, Ben noted. Just a mistake. And that was a hundred thousand times more dangerous than a huge mistake. If she couldn't find a word for how utterly screwed they all were, than this was Bad. So, so bad.

Right. Ben was going to apply another blanket statement here. They were in the middle of a showdown between a (sort of) archangel and a superdemon. They were screwed.

The shadows were pulling toward Amy. Not just the charcoal sketch of wings on her back, but the shadows from the shelves and bodies were shifting into a pool around her feet that looked like a chute straight to hell. The demon looked scared, almost, and the building rumbled, dust showering down with the occasional puppy puzzle. The floor was cracking apart in concentric circles around Tate, his face twisted as he sent ring after ring of power at Amy. She staggered back one step, two, the shadows still gathering, moving with her. Ben's shadow detached itself from him, fled to Amy. 

Then the wave hit, stronger than before. It hit everyone. Ben could hear ribs  _snap_ , and he would have screamed but the air was thick and tasted like ozone, so instead he  _screame_ _d._  The Winchesters were silent, but Ben couldn't see anymore, couldn't really hear through the ringing in his ears-

No. It wasn't ringing. Somehow, it was words, formed from the shattering sound of crystal. There was pressure on every part of Ben, like that ride at the fair that said 'gravity' and meant 'centrifugal force' and made sure you could barely move. But he managed to move his hands, like he was a thousand miles under, and clamp them over his ears. It barely helped. There weren't any shadows left in the room, not that Ben could see.

And that was when he realized it. 

The room was  _light_ _._  Amy had drawn all the darkness toward herself, swirling at her feet, a vortex of sinking shadow. Light was streaming from the walls, like it had been trapped in a blanket of blackness, suffocated until the archangel that might have been Ben's friend freed it. 

And he understood how the archangels defeated the Darkness. They condensed it, devoured it.

Another wave of crushing power from the demon, and the few ribs Ben had left groaned. His head felt liable to explode, his hands shaking and they would have fallen away if not for the never-ending unceasing pressure. He could barely breathe. Light swam in his eyes.

The sound ceased, and Ben's ears went dead. Blood, he could feel it, tricked down the side of his face. He was pretty sure it was from his ear. But he could see again, without the call of the angels vibrating through bone and spirit.

It was still Amy. Somehow, miraculously, the girl standing in a corona of blue light and shadows was still Amy. The demon wasn't her brother, not even close, but they were a striking pair. Copper hair lit to nearly the colour of fire. Eyes, electric blue and oil black. Hands outstretched, Amy's to her sides like she was about to take flight, Tate's pointed at her, like he wanted to tear her skin from her bones. 

Amy opened her mouth, and Ben cringed, tried to stop the blood running over his slack palms. But she spoke normally, all too quietly. "You can stop this. Leave him."

"No."

Amy inclined her head, tipping it so she was staring Tate right in the eye, across the what seemed miles of twisting shadow and shattered concrete. "This is your last chance."

"No."

Amy didn't reply, staring at the thing that was her brother in some tiny way with affectionless eyes. 

And she said: "Now."

Wings exploded from her back, colossal shapes of feathers and wind made of both excruciating light and deep shadow. There were six wings, six enormous glowing wings that stretched from one shelf to the next, taking up the whole aisle. A feather brushed an inch from Ben's face, burning through solid steel like it wasn't there. Heat pounded over Ben, glorious heat. A rib snapped back into place, two, three. The wings arched to the ceiling, the floor, the walls, the doors, burning swaths of charcoal in their wake. They were taller than four of Amy, wider than ten end-to-end, all tethered to a tiny girl glowing incandescent. 

She opened her mouth, and light spilled out, white hot, and Ben couldnt see, his eyes smarting. The ringing sounded again, that terrible majestic ringing, and this time, Ben could hear words. Faint and odd and nearly not there, but words. 

" _We are the archangel. We are Amriel and Gabriel and the light that drives back the darkness_." Light spread, the shadows tearing themselves into shivering ribbons, shrinking. The walls were shaking and glowing and Ben cracked open his eyes long enough to see the unctuous shield the Tate demon was holding over himself, the rippling waves shrinking with the shadows as the demon  _screamed_ , whipped wave after wave of crushing power at AmyGabriel and the rest of the room.

This time, they didn't hit home. 

" _We are Amriel and Gabriel and_ _you_ _have made a mistake_."

It was Amy, her eyes, her twisting hands, her confident set of her shoulders. But it was Gabriel, the lithe spine, the half-smile, the pouring light and the wings. But the anger was both.

" _You will linger, no longer. You will burn in the light and the fire, creature of smoke and darkness. There are no shadows without light, but light can crush the shadows when the light so chooses._

" _We are Amriel and Gabriel, and you will be gone_."

There was a second, a time-frozen pause in the light, in the movement, in the power surging between the creatures, the twins. Then a pulse of light that consumed everything in his path, and somehow, everything went black.

 


	93. Totally Not Fleeing & Threats

When Ben opened his eyes, he was on the floor, and his shadow was back in place. All the shadows were back in place, leaning from walls and shelves and people. His bones ached, low and hollow, like they'd been singed all the way down to the core. His ribs were the worst of it, but they didn't feel broken anymore. Archangel mojo healed from a distance, apparently. 

Ben struggled to his feet, dragging his shoulder up the shelf, steadying himself against the sooty cracks in the steel. It was warm, almost hot, and there were jagged crags in it where the feathers had brushed. Ben's shoulder stung, a sharp pain, not like the rest of him, but he managed to catch Dean's eye, he shot him the universal  _I'm okay_  signal.

Dean didn't look like he believed Ben, but he relaxed a litre, anyway. As much as he could relax while still looking like the poster child for homicide. Sam shot Ben a look as soon as Dean started stalking for Crowley, and Ben rolled his eyes and shot him two  _I'm okay_  signs. Because clearly Sam thought he was lying for Dean's benefit. He was wrong.

Ben was lying for  _both_  of the Winchesters' benefits. Sheesh. 

When Sam turned, too, Ben attempted to take a step and nearly swooned. His shoulder throbbed again, and he had to bite back a good-length string of curses. He poked at his shirt — it had been scorched, and Ben had to brush ash off his skin. 

His mouth dropped.

Where a feather had brushed Ben, a scorching graze of grace, there was a mark. Almost silver, like a scar made of starlight. It wasn't anything Ben had seen before, not a sigil or a tune or a word in any language he could recognize. It has the same sort of dissonance as the crystal voice, the same shiver in his mind and his bones. 

Ben got the feeling it wasn't just a run-of-the-mill scar. And even though pain sucked, he was sort of grateful. Amy... Gabriel, both, whichever, whoever... Yeah. He was almost grateful. 

Crap.

Amy.

Amy was a heap on the floor, a folded shadow of wings burned onto the back of her shirt. Tate was across from her, crumpled and smoking. There was a wreath of destruction around them, concentric circles of charred concrete, pooled metal, and a final circle with dotted with sulphur and crumbs of what looked like obsidian.

The both of them were still breathing, slowly, as if asleep. 

Well, at least they were at WalMart. Ben didn't feel guilty in the slightest about destroying it. 

Then, of course, Crowley and the Winchesters started arguing. This time, Ben let himself curse and start staggering towards the rest of the group. He had been the closest to the blast, the only one touched by the wings, which made him feel a little better about passing out. 

"This is all your fault!"

"No," Dean said, somehow sounding genial. "You're the one with the psycho second in command that wants to kill you and become the king of hell."

"Bah!" Crowley scowled over at Ben, then back at Dean. Sam was taking subtle steps over to the twins, trying to look like he was paying attention. "That's par for the course for demons. I'd be disappointed if he didn't have some sort of kingly aspirations. You lot are the reason he nearly succeeded? Do you have  _any idea_  what this is going to do for my reputation?"

"Nothing," Ben said, coming to a stop next to Dean. Sam gave him a thumbs up, his hand at Amy's neck.  _Got a pulse._ Ben grinned back. "Cause, um, he's dead." The demon that had been possessing Tate was, at any rate. "And we won't talk. Right?"

Dean scowled.

" _Right_?"

"Right," Sam said, from over where Tate had a pulse. "Our mouths are sealed."

Crowley regarded them with suspicion. "And you didn't  _tell_  me that you had Gabriel under lock and key with your pretty little candy cane there."

"To be fair," Ben said. "It was as much news to us as it is to you. We had no idea until like, a couple days ago." Well, they had an  _idea_ , but it wasn't a very coherent one. They mostly thought Amy was weird. 

" 'To be fair'," Crowley mimicked. "Well, you had days to call me up. You didn't think I'd be  _interested_?"

"We didn't think it was any of your business." Dean wiggled the knife. "Look. You can get back to your bullets. We'll leave."

Sam hoisted Amy over his shoulder, and they all turned and stared. Sam scowled. "We're  _leaving_ , Crowley. And taking what we came for." A raised eyebrow, a little hair flip. "And you're welcome for dealing with the superdemon."

"Wait just one bloody second." There was something dangerous in Crowley's voice now. "You think you can just trot out of here with an archangel and a super powered vessel?"

Ben's heart tripped into double time, his body humming with adrenaline. If Crowley tried to stop them...

Dean scratched his head with the knife. "Well... yeah. I don't think you'll want to stop us." He smiled a humourless smile. "Don't want Gabriel waking up, huh?"

Ben was pretty sure neither Amy nor Gabriel was in any condition to be awake. Gabriel was an archangel charging for nearly a year in a Special Snowflake Vessel, fine, but he'd just knocked himself out by smiting a super demon that had been occupying a Special Snowflake Vessel for just as long as he had. Not to mention that fancy little stunt with the shadows and the scar... thing on Ben's shoulder. 

But Crowley didn't know that. He took a step back, the demons that had been thrown over the shelves returning around him, a shroud of flashing eyes and sulphur coated limbs. "You'll regret this."

Dean sighed, turned to go drag Tate to the exit. He was very, very carefully keeping his eyes on Crowley. "That's a bit of an overused threat, man."

Crowley snorted. "And it always turns out, doesn't it?" He caught Ben's eyes, and his flicked back to blood. "You'll regret this," he said again, and Ben got the uneasy feeling that this time, Crowley was talking to him.

"C'mon," Dean said, ignoring the fact that Tate's legs were hitting pretty much everything as he was dragged towards the exit. "Unless you wanna hang around."

Ben took one last look at the destruction, tugged his shirt securely over his shoulder, and followed Dean out of the building. 

 


	94. The Intricacies Of Archangels & A Call

Sam was waiting outside, the Grace twins bundled neatly into the backseat. Neither of them were bleeding, which was good, because the Apple's seats couldn't take any more abuse. But they weren't awake, which was bad. Nobody had any idea what hosting an archangel in Death Mode would do to the host. Worse, nobody had any idea what hosting a supercharged archangel in Super-Death Combined-With-Host Mode would do to the aforementioned host. 

"I'm thinking," Dean said, after he bullied Ben into squishing into the backseat. "This is probably going to be more of a Michael thing than a Rafael thing, you know?"

Ben, sandwiched between an Amy and a door, said, "No, actually, I don't know."

Dean sighed, started the car that Ben really,  _really_  wished he was driving. As they puttered Sam caught Ben's eyes in the mirror, like,  _What can you do? I think he expects you to be psychic._

Ben sighed too. 

Sam then related the Winchester Tale Of Terror #84 and 76, Michael, who was sort of Dean and sort of their father, was an archangel they'd had experience with. He'd left his vessels A-Okay, then wiped their memories. 

Rafael, on the other hand, left his vessels as vegetables. If they weren't stabbed to death by all the other angels he'd pissed off. Which was great, really, seeing as Gabriel would likely have about five million times as many enemies as the average archangel. But then again, he seemed to genuinely  _like_  Amy, and didn't seem the type to leave her drooling. He asked for permission, and then respected it, and allowed Amy to keep majority control of her body. That wasn't the sort of person- angel, whatever, that would leave her a drooling mess. 

Unless of course he did a patented Asshole Angel manoeuvre and changed his mind, in which case Ben could stop worrying about it because angels were angels and there was no point in trying to predict them. 

Also, Amy's eyes were moving, like she was dreaming, so Ben was pretty sure she was okay. He didn't really care much about Tate — the dude was an ass even when he wasn't a demon — but he checked anyway, for Amy's sake. The same. 

"I think we've got more of a Michael situation here," Ben told them. "They look like they're dreaming. Their breathing is normal. I think they're just pooped."

"Pooped?" Dean repeated, incredulously. He turned all the way around in his seat, ignoring the road. " _Pooped_? Really?"

"The road!" Ben waved frantically. They weren't  _alone_  on the highway, dammit Dean. "Look at the road!"

" _Pooped_." Dean said again, but he looked back. They hadn't wavered even an inch from their path. Ben's heart started to slow. "And chill, Ben. I was paying attention."

"You were turned  _all the way around_ _,_ " Ben told him, his voice panicked. "I am a mechanic. Do you know how  _man_ _y_  cars have come in demolished because someone wasn't looking at the road? And how many have bloodstains?" He gestured to the seat beside him, where he could just see a splotch from the fake blood Dean had been wearing to get them into the WalMart. " _Real_  blood, Dean, not just coloured goopy cornstarch."

"Chill," Dean said again, but at least he didn't look away from the road this time. "I know what I'm doing."

"That's what everyone else said, too."

There was a silent standoff, Sam very much Not Participating. Tate gurgled in his sleep, and slumped over onto Amy's shoulder. In return, Amy pressed deeper into Ben's side. She didn't smell very fresh. Ben elbowed her a bit, tried to get her to shift more into her brother. 

They really did look alike. The same exact shade of hair, the same tired cast to their faces, the same nose, the same eyes when they were awake and weren't possessed by their respective spooks. Without Tate's omnipresent scowl, with Amy's hair tangled and tucked away, they were nearly identical. 

They were so obviously, achingly family. 

And Ben was an idiot and a moron and a terrible son and he hadn't called his mother in over a month. Lisa probably had a missing person's report out on him. Gah. Ben dug under Amy's arm, trying to get to his coat pocket for his phone. He  _thought_  he remembered his mother's number. 

Except he didn't have his phone. Which was great. It was either back at the WalMart of Hell — which he was  _not_  going anywhere near ever again, thank you very much — or it had been crushed or dismantled or stolen or eaten sometime along these last crazy weeks. He couldn't remember. And it didn't matter.

He dug in Amy's pocket for her phone, the Garth one with the wolf doodled on the side. He opened it, his fingers hovered over the numbers... and his brain blew a lug nut. Nope. Okay.

Wait. Ben's brain clicked back into gear and he grinned. Dean frowned. "What?"

"I'm just gonna call my mom," he told him. "She probably thinks I'm dead." He thought for a second. "Would it explode her brain if I told her you were here?"

"Yeah," Sam said, "Better not to try. You only got around it because you were a kid, and then you had Gabriel's help."

Ben groaned. "Fine. No brain explosions. But you better be quiet."

"Sure."

Ben held his breath, and dialled. 

It rang.

And rang.

And rang again. 

Ben hung up, frowned. Lisa didn't have an answering machine or voicemail or anything. She was always by her phone, or asleep. And if she was asleep, she'd wake up. Lisa never missed a phone call unless the phone lines were out. You called twice, max. 

So Ben called again, his eyebrows crawling towards each other. Sam and Dean were looking at him, he could tell, feel their eyes burning through his head. He didn't look up. 

The phone rang again. It was going through. Ring after ring after ring.

Ben hung up. His heart crawled into his throat and started throwing a temper tantrum. He didn't understand. Why wasn't his mother picking up? She was all but surgically attached to her phone. It just plain didn't make sense.

"Third time's the charm, eh?" Dean said, and Ben looked up to catch his eyes. He... didn't look worried? "Lisa's terrible about picking up the phone. She always left it on vibrate and lost it."

"No," Ben said, and numbness started to crawl down his spine. "No, she doesn't.  _Your_  Lisa might've done that, but messing with her memory changed a lot.  _My_  mother always has her phone on full volume. She never misses a call. She doesn't even have voicemail — she doesn't need it."

The car quieted, the engine running and the static the only things filling it. Ben wanted to scream, or cry. Something. "I'll try again."

For the third time, Ben dialled his mother. The phone felt glued to his ear, and is ears were ringing. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. 

After the eighth ring, someone picked up and Ben nearly sobbed with relief. "Hi!" he said, "It's Ben, I'm-"

"You have reached Lisa Braden's number." A man said, and soothing inside Ben froze solid. 

"Hello."

The voice talked right over him, and with another chill, Ben realized it was a recording. This was a voicemail. "If you are attempting to contact her, call 555-671-8898, extension 314. If you have information on the whereabouts of her son, Benjamin Isaac Braeden, please call the police information hotline. Thank you, and goodbye."

"Ben?" Someone was talking. It might have been Dean. "Ben, what's wrong?"

"There was a voicemail," Ben said faintly. 

Dean tried to smile, Ben could hear it in his voice. "That's good, isn't it?"

Ben shook his head. "It wasn't her. It was someone else, a man. It said to call a number if you wanted to get in contact with her."

"That's good," Dean said again, but he didn't sound so sure. Something about Ben had shaken him. "Isn't it?"

"I recognized the number. It was..." Ben's voice faltered. "It was for the hospital. Something's happened. Something bad. We have to go back. Dean, we have to go back."

 


	95. Theatrics & Run

They broke every speed limit between Westboro and Ben's hometown. The twins woke once each, Tate spouting out a wide-eyed "Fuck" before dropping back off and Amy letting out an ear piercing shriek before teleporting into the trunk of the car. Thankfully, they were at a rest stop at the time, so Sam was looking over the weapons and managed to not stab Amy with any of them before extracting her and strapping her back into the backseat.

Ben's heart wasn't quite racing, but it felt like it was beating too hard, as if it wanted to escape his chest and check if his mother was alright. But they were still at least an hour out, and the number for the hospital wasn't exactly helpful. Ben had been on hold for almost two hours now, being referred in circles.

He didn't know what was wrong with his mother. She could be dying, in a coma, stabbed, shot, anything. And he couldn't know. Because he had been a selfish pea-brained schmuck and had gone off on a jolly adventure for weeks and weeks and had never called. He knew how worried she got. How could he have been so stupid? So ignorant? What, did he think he'd escaped reality?

"Ben," Dean said, because he was psychic. "Stop beating yourself up about it. It's probably recent. It's probably nothing."

"It's gotta be something serious," Ben said for what felt like the millionth time. The hold music itched inside his head. "Or they wouldn't be holding for so long dammit-"

"Ben," Sam said, because he wasn't psychic but he had ears, and he could tell how panicked he was getting. "It's probably busy." He gestured out the window, to the tiny flowers and dandelions blooming through the grass on the side of the highway. "It's hay fever season."

"Hay fever," Ben repeated, incredulous. "Sam, you don't go to the hospital for hay fever," and before Sam could finish opening his mouth, "and even if they did, my mom is injured enough that they changed her fricking voicemail so yeah, she'd be a little more of a priority than a snot fountain!"

Dead silence. Through the cracked open window, Ben could actually hear crickets chirping. His heart pounded, adrenaline singing in his blood. More quietly, "It's my mother, okay? And I abandoned her." He gave the both of them a flat look through the mirror. "I'm sure this sort of thing has never happened before between the two of you. You've never panicked when the other was missing? Never felt scared like you were the one injured and probably in pain?" Neither of the Winchesters would make eye contact, and Ben felt grimly satisfied. "Right. You live highly safe and satisfying lives and have no idea what any of this feels like."

Tate grunted again, as if to accentuate Ben's point. Ben still didn't like him.

Dean opened his mouth to retort, probably something pithy, but in unison, Tate and Amy let out a pained groan, and their eyes flicked open.

Amy looked tired, entirely drained, and she took one look at Ben, sighed, and plonked her head right back down on his shoulder. "Ugh."

Ben patted her head awkwardly, and turned to look at Tate just as Tate tried to jump out the door of the car. Ben shrieked, more in fear for his car than Tate, and started scrabbling over a very irritated Amy to grab Tate by the arm. "Dude!"

"YOU'RE KIDNAPPING ME, FUCKERS!" he screamed, seatbelt still caught around his shoulder, the door flailing wildly, his foot caught halfway out. Dean was yelling something and trying to slow the car, and Sam got ahold of Tate's other foot "LEMME GO!"

"What," Amy said, without opening her eyes. Ben was half on her lap, fingers scratching at Tate's arm as he fought with the seatbelt, the door probably getting irreparable damage as it smacked against Tate's foot. "Are you doing?"

"FUCK YOU!" Tate howled, redoubling his efforts. "MY SISTER TOO YOU DOUCHES LET US GO-"

Amy opened her eyes, and they were red and tired. "Tate, I swear, if you don't chillax I'm going to just stab you and be done."

Tate stopped fighting as much, twisting around, his face torn with the pain of his — probably sprained by this point — ankle. "The fuck?"

Amy rolled her eyes, and Ben took this golden opportunity to help Sam haul Tate the rest of the way into the car. They were going slow enough at this point that Ben could kick the car open (sorry, he thought, already planning repairs and possibly a reupholstering of the seats), and yanked Tate's foot inside. The door slammed shut, and everyone stared at each other.

"Dude." Ben said again, and released Tate's arm like it had caught fire. "Seriously?"

"What the-"

"Tate," Amy said. Calmly. "Buckle your seat belt, please, before Ben The Über Mechanic has a heart attack and fines you or something."

Tate buckled his seat belt, still staring around like a deer in the headlights. "So we aren't being kidnapped?"

"No."

"Huh." Tate sat back, and Ben made himself relax. "Why are we here, then?" Tate shot Ben a measuring look. "With gorilla face and his dads?"

Ben's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

The way Amy was still Not Reacting was leading Ben to believe that Tate was usually an enormous asshole. "That would be Ben. And his, uh..." They still hadn't sorted the whole relationship thing. Ben shrugged. Dean shrugged. "...really complicated father figure Dean and his brother Sam. And they saved your life. And mine. So you can probably shut up."

Really super unsurprisingly, Tate didn't shut up. Instead, he scoffed. "Him? Right. And what are you doing with them? You're a dancer. A lousy one. Not some sort of ninja."

Ben's need to stab Tate increased. "Actually," he told him, ignoring Amy's groan and punch. "You'd be surprised." A wicked grin started to spread across his face. "And your sister is an archangel, so yeah, I'm thinking you'd better watch your mouth."

"Sort of an archangel."

"Totally an archangel."

Amy sighed again. "Fine. Totally an archangel." She turned to her brother, and for a second, Ben thought she was going to punch him, but she hugged him so right he squeaked and his eyes bulged. "I'm sorry." she whispered, and she was shaking, her leg pressed against Ben's to lever her closer to her brother. Her voice broke down the middle, wavered. "I am so, so, sorry."

His arms went around her, and Ben looked away, their reflections clinging to each other in the window glass. One or both of them was crying, one or both of them unwilling to let go, one or both of them falling to pieces in their twin's arms.

The sign flew by, and now Ben was nearly crying himself. He was so close. So close to home, to his mother, to finally fixing this. He just wanted to fix this.

The twins didn't let go of each other until nearly the hospital, and Ben didn't let go of his mantra. I just want to fix this. I can fix this. I can fix this. All I want to do is fix this.

"Last turn," Dean announced, and Amy turned back to sitting straight, scrubbed at her eyes. Tate didn't look at anyone, slumping back into his seat like he hadn't clung to his sister for half an hour. Ben shot Amy a glance, received a watery smile and a pat on the arm. Ben let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

Amy was okay. Tate was okay. She had her happy ever after. They were possible, after all. It wasn't too much to ask for Ben to have his own.

"...actually," Sam corrected, as the Apple turned a corner and did not, in fact, end up at the hospital. "This is the last turn." He twisted in his seat, caught Ben's eyes. "Go straight in. Introduce yourself as yourself. If they ask why you've been missing-"

"-you were on a road trip with an old friend," Amy filled in, sitting forwards, her brows furrowed. Ben realized she had zero idea what was going on. She had been asleep. "I'll corroborate you. Sam and Dean are our weird uncles, and we're family friends." She patted his arm again, and Ben scowled. He felt like the family pet. "Whatever this is for, wherever we're going — you haven't actually told me, you know — we'll work it out."

Ben nodded, unconvinced. Amy kicked his shin, and he yelped. "Fine! Okay!" He tried to convince himself and maybe, just maybe, it worked. "It'll be okay."

I can fix this.

The Apple rattled to a halt in front of the county hospital, and Ben's head jerked up. His mind tipped and turned, half-memories collapsing back into place, slowly filling the sinkhole in his mind.

"Go," Dean said, and he too patted Ben's shoulder. "Run. We'll catch up."

Ben swallowed hard, throat going dry, and opened the door, the all-too familiar creak some sort of reassuring.

And he ran.

 


	96. Hospitals & Prayers

Ben knew this hospital well. Too well. Memories clicked into place with the satisfying feeling of completing a puzzle. He knew these halls, knew the shortcut to the bathroom, knew that the ICU was up the stairs and somewhere near there the wall had glass in it. 

He didn't remember why he knew this, but that was okay. It would come back to him. It always did. 

Ben arrived at the front desk in record time, out of breath, his jeans pinching after hours in the car. The receptionist looked bored out of her mind, her hair in her eyes and the imprint of a keyboard down the side of her arm like she'd taken a nap on her computer. 

"Name, insurance, ailment," she said, and continued typing. Ben stole a look down, frowned. There was only one hand on the keyboard, and Ben was pretty sure it was typing an endless line of hahahahahahahahahahaha's. 

"Ben Braeden," he told her, his stomach threatening to empty its contents, "And I'm not sick." Besides long term magical amnesia, but that was beside the point. "I'm here to see my mother. Lisa Braeden."

That seemed to wake her up. She swept her hair out of her face, licked her lips. Her eyes darted for the phone, but she didn't reach for it, like she was afraid Ben would stab her, disappear, or both. "Benjamin Braeden."

Oh. Right. Ben was missing. He faked a smile. "Yeah! That's me! I just got back from a road trip with one of my old friends and heard that my mom was in the hospital." The panic that leaked into his voice wasn't faked. "Can you tell me where she is?"

The woman stared at him. Ben stared at her. The doors to the atrium creaked open, and Ben heard footsteps and a muffled argument. His gang, then. Oh god, that was not what they were. Bad mental image. Tate would probably crash a motorcycle into the nearest pedestrian just for fun, and that was a waste of gas and quality machine. "I don't know if I'm allowed to tell you."

"Um," Ben said eloquently, "I'm her  _son_. Why wouldn't I be allowed?" Then he tried to stare her down. Ben liked to think that his intimidation skills had improved over his adventures, but they probably hadn't. 

The woman blinked, looked down at her computer. Frowned, like she was just noticing what she'd been typing. Ben caught a CTRL+A and DELETE. Then a couple more frantic clicks. She glanced up at him through fringed bangs. "Alright. I wouldn't want to be kept away from either of my moms in this sort of situation." A bone-peircing glare, far more intimidating than even the one belonging to the king of hell. Ben got the impression that this was a receptionist that had Seen Things. "But I'm going to call the police in a bit, and when they show, you're going to explain how you screwed up so bad that you got a missing person's report out on your ass."

Ben nodded, his lungs constricting. Butterflies molted in his stomach. "Thank you," he said, fervently. " _Thank_  you. It means a lot."

The woman almost smiled. "You're welcome. Room 336, ICU." Her smile dropped, slowly. "And... Ben, it's bad. Just so you know."

"Thank you," Ben said again, but that awful numbness was creeping back into his limbs, his fingers freezing. He nodded at her, scribbled his name on a sign-in chart, and jogged off for the stairs ( _-the elevator was so slow and Ben had to pee and stairs were better for the soul anyway, or at least that was Ms. Evans said-_ ) and as he turned, he caught the most hilarious sight. 

Amy and Sam were supporting a hopping Tate, a look of pure hatred on his face. Dean was walking behind them in case someone tipped too far, at least in theory. In reality, he was silently laughing his face off, and when he caught Ben looking, he shot him a thumbs up. 

Ben shot him a tiny but genuine smile, and bolted up the stairs. His lungs and legs complained, but not as much as they would have before his crazy escapades. The floors flew by, Ben's heart and anxiety rising with them.

_Three._

The over thirties were to the right, and Ben took off again, speed walking instead of running so he wouldn't bowl over any nurses or crotchety old ladies. Knowing Ben's luck, the halls would be packed with them as soon as he picked up his pace enough that crashing would be a problem. That singular hospital smell started shoving itself into Ben's pores, like that would help with his racing heart. 

_Three thirty-six._

The door was open, beckoning. There were no nurses in the hall, no alarms. The only other person on the floor besides Ben was the obligatory crotchety old lady pushing her walker like it would suddenly bestow her with the power to kill people with a sharp glance of her beady little eyes. 

Ben kept well out of her path, and stepped into the room.

Memories hit with sickening force. Not the fragmented, strange memories that Dean left in his wake. Not the puzzle pieced whole that still didn't feel quite real. Ben remembered this, remembered the terror and shock and  _fear_  of seeing his mother like this. Dean wasn't there when it mattered, and the memories were made of cold, hard pain. 

This had happened before, this almost exactly. The memories were whole, untarnished, hidden only through the agony. He hadn't thought of Dean, of demons, the last time his mother had been here. He knew that's how it happened, he had been  _there_ , but when he sat by his mother's bedside and tried not to cry, he wasn't thinking of them. He wasn't thinking of Dean. He wasn't thinking anything but,  _Please, please let her be okay. Please let me fix this. I'll do anything. Trade anything. Please._

" _Mom_ ," he breathed, and he didnt remember stumbling to her side but suddenly he was there. She was fragile, her skin practically see-through, an IV in one arm, the other in a monstrous cast, tied upright. Through the neck of her hospital gown, he could see mosaic of bruises in deep purple, yellow, black, and blue. There were bandages, too, criss-crossed under the gown across her ribs, and there was a stain on her left, still wet, that meant she'd just bled through her bandages again. 

He sat — though it was more like falling — into a chair, his hands on the edge of the bed, afraid to touch her. She looked like she was in so much pain. And it didn't look like she'd been awake in a while, hair oily and bed wrapped so surely around her Ben was afraid she'd sink away. 

And she was so, so still. Her chest barely rose, her eyelids didn't flutter. Heat stung behind Ben's eyes, and he bowed his head over uninjured hand, feeling like a little boy again in all the worst ways. His mother wouldn't be able to help him.  _Lisa was going to die oh god she was going to die please, I'll do anything just save her please-_

"Ben?" Amy was in the door, eyes still so tired, leaning against the frame to stay upright. Ben lifted his head, tried to wipe his eyes, and he knew exactly when Amy saw his mother because her eyes widened and filled with pain. "Oh,  _Ben_."

"The police will come soon," he told her, as if from a great distance. He didn't quite feel like he was living inside himself at the moment. "Will you tell them you were with me?"

Amy shoved herself off the wall, tottered over to the other chair and sat, staring at him for a second. Then she scooted the chair over and wrapped her arms around him, clutching so tight it didn't feel like she'd ever let go. "Of course. Of course, Ben. I'll do anything."

Ben sniffed, tried to stop his tears. It really, really didn't work. "Thank you."

And then, he remembered. His mother wasn't this badly injured last time, not quite, but she was severely injured and might not have made it. But the next day, bam, she was fine. It was like magic.

It was like magic.

Hope swelled, and Ben turned, Amy letting go, hand still on his shoulder. "Amy," he said, desperate, "Amy, you can fix her. Will you?" Ben knew he sounded desperate, scared out of his mind but he  _was_ , and there was no use trying to pretend he wasn't affected by his mother  _dying_ , oh god, she  _couldn't_. "I'll do anything. Please, can you heal her?"

 


	97. Wings & The End

"I can't," Amy told him, and Ben's world collapsed.

"Please?" he said, one more time, like that would make all the difference.

She blinked at him, like he'd said he wanted her to start doing the cha cha. "Of course," she said, so gentle, and Ben's heart restarted. "Idiot, Braden, of course I'll heal her. I'll do what I can. But!" She glared, gestured to herself. "I'm tired. A  _little_."

Ben wanted to hit himself upside the head. "Oh. Right."

" 'Oh. Right'." Amy mimicked, and kicked Ben in the shin. "Yeah, Benny boy. Apparently combining with an archangel and doing a mega demon exorcism with wings takes it out of you." A thoughtful look. "Speaking of which!"

Amy turned, and Ben realized that she was wearing a new shirt. Right. Her old one had been in tatters after the whole Wings On Fire thing. "You got a new shirt."

Amy sighed, did some sort of contortionist thing to pull down the neck of her shirt. "Yeah, but that's not what I was going for.  _Look_."

Then Ben saw it. Long black marks, sharp but delicate. Feathers. Not real ones, but ink, the top of magnificent wings poking up through the neck of Amy's shirt. "You got  _wing tattoos_?"

Amy let go of her shirt, turned and settled back into the chair. "Oh yeah. I dunno if they're permanent, whether they're for a day or just until Gabriel leaves my body." A shrug. "Either way, they're hella cool."

"Hella?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Hella. Shush." She nestled deeper in the seat, into the faded plaid cushion. She didn't look all that out of place in the hospital room, either, what with the almost-bruised looking circles under her eyes and scabs on the palms of her hands from when she fell when Gabriel fell asleep. "And, if you don't mind, I'm going to take a minute to work up the willpower to go find my idiot brother and a place to sleep."

Ben grinned. "Oh, so he's an idiot now?"

Amy closed her eyes, tipped her head back to rest against the chair. Her new wings weren't visible, but it still felt odd to know they were there. "He was always an idiot." She smiled, easy and lazy. "Like you."

"Hey," Ben said, but it wasn't heated. "I managed not to die. Or get possessed. So that's a win."

Amy let out a tired laugh. "Yeah, I suppose." Her hand drifted to her ribs again, like Gabriel was fluttering around somewhere inside her ribcage. "Right." Then she frowned, and her eyes turned inwards. Ben knew the signs, and he waited. Then Amy blinked, surprised. "Wow. Um. That's."

"What?" Ben resisted the urge to shake her. What was Gabriel saying now? The meaning of the universe? The PIN code for a millionaire account?

"It's about your scar." Amy gestured to Ben's shoulder, and he looked down to see the seared rip in his shirt hanging wide, and his face went red.

"Oh," he said. Attempted to cover it. "That. What about it?"

"It's..." she petered out, eyes flicking back and forth like she was reading off a teleprompter. "A sort of blessing? General good luck, I think."

Ben blinked. "Wow. That's pretty cool." He dropped his hand, stared harder at the odd little rune. "Huh!"

"That's not all," Amy said, and nudged him with her shoulder. "It's also an anti-possession rune, so you don't need to worry about getting a tattoo, lucky duck."

"Wow," Ben said again, but Amy wasn't done.

"Apparently you're the first person, um...  _ever_  to get that." She rubbed her forehead. "Something about me getting combined with Gabriel tempered and changed the power of the wings. Ordinarily, you'd get immolated at a touch of the actual things."

" _Well_ ," Ben said, and dropped his hand off his shoulder. "That... well. Um."

Amy snorted. " _That_  would be the clue to get my butt to bed." She stood, swaying. "I'll see you later, Braeden."

Ben's fingers tightened on his mother's blanket, and he nodded. He didn't ask how long it would take for Amy to get enough power to heal her. It wasn't fair, not with her standing there, listing with an invitation of,  _I'll stay, if you need me_  in her eyes. "Go," he told her, and tried to believe it. "I'll be fine."

Amy made sure to lean over and ruffle his hair before making her way to the door. And call, just as she walked out. "See ya later, Princess."

Ben let his grin settle into something more real. "See you," he yelled after her, " _Amazing Amriel_."

Her laughter drifted down the hall. "I am, aren't I?"

And then she was gone, Ben left with his mother. He pulled the chair closer, settled his head into his arms close to her side, tried to pull good memories from thin air. He'd told Amy the truth, and he was telling it to himself, too. He would be fine.

The hours ticked by quickly, Ben dozing off for short intervals, always brought back by an alarm. Someone else on the floor would code, someone in the ICU would die and come back, or just plain die. It wasn't a comforting place to sleep.

The police came, too, and once Ben had reassured him that yeah, he was actually Benjamin Isaac Braeden (his full name was a bit much, he'd always thought, but whatever). Yeah, he was alive and fine, and yeah, he was an idiot for not calling his mother.

And yes, he was allowed to hold his mother's hand and sleep in here overnight. He was family, after all.

_And family was everything to Winchesters, wasn't it? Even the adopted ones._

At about three in the morning, even the bustling hospital darkened and quiet, Amy slipped back into the room. Ben was still awake, clutching his mother's hand like a lifeline, staring out the tiny window at the clouds. He couldn't see the stars, not in the city, but he didn't care. The clouds were colourless cotton candy, lit by the city. A tiny circlet of silver moon glowed, half hidden by a sworl of mist.

She settled into the chair beside him, leaned forwards, arms propped on her knees, and watched his mother breathe. It was silent, the kind of still that only comes in the early mornings. A radio fuzzed in the background, some sort of gentle rock turning to static.

And she said, "I did something for you and your mother, once."

She turned, looked Ben in the eye, and Ben's brain woke, his spine straightened with an audible  _crack_. It was Gabriel, the deep eyes and regret mingled with curiosity. "Um."

Gabriel nodded, as if this was the perfect answer. Turned her attention back to Lisa, a sleeping beauty marred with dark prints and bandages. "Dean never would have been a good father, you know."

Ben frowned. That was a bit of a non-sequitur. "He seems pretty okay right now." He jerked his head to the door. Dean was sleeping elsewhere in the hospital, probably drowning in guilt. Him and Sam had come by earlier, checked in, apologized over and over again. It wasn't their fault, not even by Winchester Logic, which was, to be honest, terrible.

Gabriel sat back, started unwrapping a Snickers bar. She didn't seem all that happy with it. "Ugh. Stupid vending machine was too expensive." For the first time, Gabriel ate only a single bite of the candy instead of shoving the entire thing in her face. "Shtill good."

Ben waited. Gabriel took another bite, sighed. "Ahh." Caught his look. "What? No, really. He was a young hunter living off daddy issues and credit card fraud. Do you think he could pay child support?" Gabriel pointed the Snickers at Ben, like this was some grand piece of information. "Jacob could."

_Jacob._

That was... that was Ben's father's name. Jacob. The asshole with a big enough wallet that childcare didn't bother him in the slightest. Ben remembered more than one instance of his mother buying him some treat and saying, with a wicked gleam in her eyes, "This is complements of Jacob, right baby?"

Ben had never understood, thought that maybe Jacob was a boyfriend or the name of a lottery. He hadn't been the smartest kid, but he liked to think he wasn't dumb now. Was Gabriel... Was Gabriel saying what he thought she was saying? "Do you mean... Is Dean my father?" Something started burning high in Ben's chest. "My  _real_  father?"

Gabriel shrugged and ate the other half of the candy bar in one enormous bite. "I don't have the faintest. I zapped your paternity test to Jacob without checking what it really was. Don't think I really wanted to know." Gabriel contemplated the candy wrapper, like that was the elaborate report. "Don't think it matters. You'll still follow him around like a lost puppy anyway."

Ben's jaw dropped. "You... You screwed with my paternity test? Why?"

A further shrug, and Gabriel tossed the candy wrapper aside. "Why not? I was bored. There was a chance you were Dean's kid, and, well..." Gabriel tugged a lock of Amy's hair in her face, examined that instead. It was infuriating, the way she wouldn't  _look_  at Ben. "He had a destiny. Not that I really cared, but you know. It would have sucked for this nameless shapeless little lump of human to have Dean as a father."

"You-" Ben couldn't believe this. He really could. He stood, released his mother's hand. "How  _could_ -"

Gabriel snorted, like Ben was getting himself worked up over something ridiculous. Like Ben was a pet that had just peed on the carpet. "Sorry, princess." The nickname was jarring, and Ben shut his mouth so fast he bit his tongue. "You could always double check, if you cared." A raised eyebrow. "But do you really want to? Winchesters are pretty cursed. Being an honorary Winchester is dangerous enough."

Ben sputtered. "Excuse me? Yes! It matters!" He threw his hands in the air, like they could catch the answers. HIs head was spinning. Another plot twist? Wasn't his life complicated enough  _oh my god_. "It's my  _father_! Half of my DNA!" He accidentally slapped himself in the face in his haste to gesture. "I look like my mom, people always remark on that! And I act like her too! So what of me have I taken from my father? What sort of-"

"Hey, hey," Gabriel stood, frightfully graceful. "Don't shoot the messenger. It's long done."

"Excuse me!" Ben yelled again. "You're not the messenger!  _You're the one who did it!_ "

Gabriel chuckled, kicked the Snickers wrapper under the bed. "Let bygones be bygones, MiniChester." She was clearly done being helpful.

Or maybe not. Gabriel drew up to the bed, looked down at Lisa like she was something precious, not just a silly little human on a silly little Earth. And she laid her hand across Lisa's forehead, and light flowed down and over, blue and white and fireworks flickering. The lights, dimmed, flared bright as the sun, and Ben covered his eyes.

Then again, everything was back to normal and-

Lisa's eyes were fluttering, her chest rising and falling more steadily, strong and even. The lining of her bruises were gone, perfect porcelain skin shining out. Gabriel turned, her eyes lit electric in that way that meant she was coming or going.

"It's been fun, MiniChester," Gabriel said, her voice rattling with those eerie angelic undertones. "Tell Amy-Angel she's more powerful than she thinks she is." A smile, canny and full of teeth. "And tell her that this isn't the end. I'll see her again."

And Amy tipped her head back, light coursing out of her mouth in a stream of radiant lustre. It coalesced, a wisp of luminescent soul, and dashed out the window. Light fell hard in the room, Amy tumbling with it. Ben caught her, barely, heavy and warm and quietly asleep, just like Lisa.

The radio fuzzed back on, the interference clearing out. It was rock, old. " _Carry on my wayward son._ "

Lisa gasped, once, sharp, and her eyes flickered open. Ben set Amy down on the floor, carefully, and ran.

" _There'll be peace when you are done._ "

"Ben," she whispered, voice cracking and disused, but so, so beautiful. "Oh, Ben."

" _Lay your weary head to rest._ "

Ben wrapped his arms around her, not worrying about hurting her, sending his thanks to the sky, to Gabriel floating somewhere beyond the silvered clouds, pinking with the start of a sunrise. His throat burned, eyes brimmed. Ben was crying, and he just didn't care.

" _Don't you cry no more._ "

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on FANFICTION.NET under the same name.


End file.
